Young Nurse Review

What Happens In Freeside Available as PDF or Mobi

Yes, I have converted What Happens In Freeside Stays (the first story in the What Happens In Freeside fanfic universe) to pdf and mobi (for Kindle readers). Just scroll to the bottom of the Books page on my website and there it is. Enjoy!

For those of you who don't know, this is a male/male romance between Vulpes Inculta and Arcade Gannon of Fallout: New Vegas. It is fan fiction. It is full of derp. And fanged fluffiness. And is sorta kinky because it was inspired from a prompt on the Fallout kinkmeme. This isn't everyone's cup of tea, and I definitely recommend you avoid it if it doesn't sound fun to you.

Abducting Heiresses

Abduction is a popular storytelling device when it comes to historical romance, which isn't surprising since you can trace its place in romance literature right back to the Abduction of Persephone.

When you're talking historical romance set in England or Wales, abductors - and elopers, for that matter - are usually racing to Gretna Green in Scotland to take their vows.

Gretna Green was the Vegas of its day, in terms of quickie marriages. The marriage laws of England and Wales, requiring amongst other things parental consent for marriages of those under 21 years of age, did not apply in Scotland and Gretna Green was right across the border.

Photo by Niki Odolphie from Frome, England

But things that can seem romantic in fiction are often far from it in real life.

Edward Gibbon Wakefield, who is apparently something of a hero to New Zealand, tried his hand at heiress abduction in 1826.

He happened to hear of Ellen Turner, a beautiful 16 year old heiress, from an acquaintance who mentioned her as being a neighbor. So Wakefield moved to her neighborhood, learned the family's circumstances and habits, and then appeared at Ellen's school with a letter informing the headmistress that Ellen's ill father had taken a turn for the worse and the girl must accompany him at once.

This was entirely plausible - her father was sick, in an age of primitive medicine sudden deterioration was not uncommon, and a friend or servant would often be asked to carry an important letter (there being no FedEx service or the like).

So Ellen was packed off in Wakefield's carriage.

Which headed north to Scotland.

Now alone with her, Wakefield told the teen her father's business had collapsed, sheriff's officers were in pursuit of her family (for debt), and only through marrying him could she hope to save her father from jail and her family from the poor house. He said he would use his (nonexistent) fortune to save them, but only once he and she were wed.

Remembering that she was a sheltered 16 year old, in an age when women of her class were not taught anything about business and economics, trapped in a small space with a stranger - and Wakefield was known for being a smooth talker, it's pretty easy to see how she would come to believe him over the many hours to Gretna Green.

This is Wakefield & Ellen's marriage license:

Successfully married, Wakefield informed the Turners where to send his checks and promptly took his new wife off to France, where he thought he would be safe from any repercussions. He was wrong. Ellen's family contacted the French police.

Extradited, Wakefield stood trial at Lancaster Assizes, was convicted of abduction and sentenced to three years imprisonment.

This had no affect on his marriage, which was still valid.

An Act of Parliament was obtained to annul the marriage, so Ellen finally could be free.

(Yes, an Act of Parliament. You couldn't get out of a marriage without one. So those Regency romances you read with divorce treated as if it were nothing? Yeah. Not happening.)

Just so you know, some time after his release from prison, Wakefield relocated to the Australian colonies and did something more honorable with his life.

So why is today's post about heiress abductions?

Because today in Salem Massachusetts history:  October 25 1736 a Mr. McIntosh is bound at Salem court for trial, charged with attempting to abduct his two nieces, who are heiresses, and carry them off to England.

Heiress abductions happened in America, too.

Isn’t it cool when truth and fiction converge?

Vulpes and Arcade Art Additional

you can't rock legion clothes by *Mikkynga on deviantART

Let me try it on by ~Sa-Di-Ka on deviantART

Somehow I missed posting these earlier. Are they fantastically awesomesauce or what? 

Much love to the artists!!!

Excerpt from Dance Macabre

London 1897 

Lily Rafferty would never become accustomed to unfamiliar men embracing her in public. She stiffened involuntarily, but if he noticed her reluctance, it did not dampen her partner’s enthusiasm. Seizing her body, he pulled her away from the relative safety of the shadowed wall. His careless speed gave her an excuse to keep her eyes riveted to the pointed tips of her black satin slippers as they appeared and disappeared under the swishing accordion gores of her yoke skirt. It fit snug and sleek down to her knees before flaring out like a bell, and moving quickly was a dangerous proposition on the slick wooden floorboards. The last thing she wanted was to fall. Not here. 

Elegant music soared above the crowded dancehall floor as the shop-soiled quartet on stage launched into a waltz. He flung her into position. Lily felt one of her little puff sleeves slip farther down her shoulder and gave it a quick tug. Her décolletage was quite low enough, thank you. For a moment he looked disappointed she hadn’t popped out of her bodice, then he started to dance. She found her steps and followed his lead. 

His hand pressed against the back of her corset. Not for the first time, she wished her undergarments were fashioned from solid steel. She glanced at his other hand, at the stubby bare fingers. At least her hands were protected from his rude skin by her long white gloves.

She risked a look at his face. Flushed cheeks. Watery eyes. A high forehead from which heavily macassar-oiled hair lay slicked back. Her gaze traveled down, past his fierce moustache, to his neck. He wore a diamond tie pin. No need to look further. Decidedly a gentleman. Yet another toff come to enjoy the pursuits of the lower orders. As if being poor were an exhibit in Regent’s Park Zoological Garden. 

He noticed her attention and smiled. “Like what you see, m’dear?” He leaned down. His face was close to hers now. Too close. He panted against her cheek, his breath hot and reeking of liquor. “I like what I see. And I’ve got streamers of tickets to give to a welcoming sort of wench.” 

Stomach churning, she struggled to hide her distaste. If she wrinkled her nose he surely would not dance with her again, and she needed every ticket she could collect. 

“Thank you, sir.” She fixed her lips in a smile. 

“Nice, ripe partridge, you are.” He removed his arm from her back and suddenly his bare hand was roaming the low neckline of her gown, where the tight lacing of her corset had affected an impressive cleavage. 

As she started to object, he abruptly switched from waltzing to walking. She stumbled. Before she could completely recover, he had maneuvered her past a screen of potted aspidistras and into one of the dance hall’s dark corners. Inwardly she groaned. The management of the Barbary Coast Dance Hall arranged these corners deliberately—and for one reason. Any man without a Malthus sheath to contain his effluxion could release his seed upon the floor in the semi-privacy of such a corner.

Her French heels slipped and she clutched her partner’s sleeve. While the night’s fluids had been tracked around much of the dance hall, the floor was still slicker at the scene of the unmentionable deeds. She tried to wipe all such details from her mind. Thinking about it made her feel unwell. 

“Eager, are you?” He chuckled. “Excellent. Excellent.” With drink-clumsy fingers, he stroked the skin of her breasts. 

The effrontery of his actions was compounded by his bare hands. Gentlemen were supposed to wear gloves. Such crude undress would not have got him past the door of any other place but here. Here, where men with money could throw away their manners. 

Closing her eyes, she choked back the protests raging to escape her lips. Kitty had warned her there would be men who wished for services beyond dancing. Touching him would earn her extra tickets and, since the girls were paid for every ticket they turned in, it meant her wages for the evening might grow considerably. 

But her stomach threatened to rid itself of her meager dinner at the prospect of seeing his unmentionables. 

She hadn’t wanted to be a Cyprian—in fact, she’d been fired from her last job for refusing her employer’s advances. But times were so hard, especially for orphan girls without references, and a doss house charged tuppence just to sleep standing up. She needed money. 

Kitty didn’t mind the unspeakable work. Less tiring than a dance but just as quick, she said. Plus you got better paid. Getting pulled into a corner was an unparalleled opportunity in Kitty’s opinion.

His sloppy kiss upon her neck jerked Lily’s thoughts back to the present. An unparalleled opportunity, I don’t think. She’d gain more coin but lose her self-respect. 

“Sir….” Politely, she tried to extricate herself from his embrace. “Sir! Sir, the music will end soon….” She turned her face away, hoping if she concentrated fixedly upon the dance floor she could get back out to it. 

He mumbled something, his lips pressed against the curve of her jawbone, and continued to fondle the tops of her breasts. Her skin crawled at his touch. Not that he was behaving any worse than the other dancehall customers. Small wonder a steady trickle of girls walked out without notice each week. 

“Do you not wish to finish our dance?” She attempted to pull away again, but he jerked her close. 

“No, I’d much rather you finish off this.” His hand fumbled with the opening to his trousers as his hips furtively thrust against her. Not on my lovely dress! She shuddered to think what his abrasion, let alone his eventual wetness, would do to the fabric…. And she still owed money on it. 

“Truthfully, sir, I am not…I don’t…I would really rather not….” 

Laughter trickled through his sneering mouth. “That’s what you’re meant to say, I know. But you strumpets are never in earnest with your protests and false modesty.” 

“Oh, I can assure you I am in earnest.” She endeavored to pull away once more. 

He grabbed hold of her by her neck. “No, you don’t. I can’t stop now.” His voice sounded strained, and she didn’t like the look in his eyes.

“If you please,” she whispered, attempting a smile so as not to betray her growing horror, “I’ll just take the one ticket, sir. For the dance.” 

“You’ll take what I give you and like it.” 

Panic clutched at her heart. She couldn’t escape. She did not wish to do this—and he didn’t care. Flailing her fists, she pummeled him about the head and shoulders. His hand tightened about her throat. Changing tactics, she tried to pry his fingers loose, to no avail. 

His grip hurt. She felt her lungs struggling for air as if they were battering against her corset’s constraints. No air. She couldn’t breathe. Her heart pounded wildly. She had to get out of here. Get…run…. 

“No!” She had meant it to be a scream. Instead she produced a breathless whisper the music easily drowned. No one would have paid her cries the least bit of attention anyway. A woman’s willingness did not matter. Most customers assumed this was what she was paid to do. 

She kept scuffling despite the increasing heaviness of her limbs, despite the pointlessness. He was going to spend himself right here, in public, on her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. With a biting stab of terror, she realized he might even kill her. And she would die in a stained dress. That relatively inconsequential concern almost made her smile at herself as dark spots obstructed her vision. What a ridiculous last thought to have. 

“Hartengate.” It was a male voice, a stranger’s, rich, raspy and aloof, slicing like flint across the scuffle to pierce the haze in her brain. 

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Decadent Publishing Releases Dance Macabre

Please enjoy this Book Video
advertising my newly re-released
historical paranormal romance short story

 DANCE MACABRE 

available wherever ebooks are sold 

from Decadent Publishing.

While it is cheapest to purchase from the publisher (above),
you can also purchase:

From Smashwords - all file types


From All Romance eBooks - most popular file types


From Amazon (for Kindle) US


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Dance Macabre Banner

Historical Paranormal Romance set in London.

Coming October 21st from Decadent Publishing.

You know you want it.   ;)

Hidden History of Salem Video with New Soundtrack

I have re-done my HIDDEN HISTORY OF SALEM book-teaser

because MY BOOK INSPIRED A SONG

and that is just too cool not to share:

Buy the book!  You'll like it. Click here 

There's real history plus cool obscure facts plus ghost cats and candy and coffee and romance and a horrible murder - all sorts of interesting things. And we haven't even gotten to the witches.

Buy the single, too! It should be coming out in the next month or so. I'll keep you posted. 

Vulcade Rules

I love Chris Avellone. Seriously. He is the coolest dude.

And I shall now believe in my heart of hearts that Vulpes/Arcade is canon.

(FYI: The link in the above tweet I sent goes to THIS post)

Everything is Vulcade and nothing hurts!! You would not believe the squeee-ing and flailing of fan-girl arms that accompanied receiving this tweet. I was super-euphoric for the rest of the night. *dancing*

New Vulpes and Arcade Artwork!

This splendiferous, fabulous, totally awesome piece of What Happens In Freeside Stays Vulpes/Arcade art was created by ROUTA.

Go watch her tumblr because she ROCKS!!

Why Het Romance Is Boring

I've got a theory about this.

I know a lot of female readers who have switched to male/male romance, not just because two hot men are better than one, but because they're finding het (male/female) romance boring. Not that the plots are slow or the same or whatnot, just that they don't care that much if the couple get together.

This is my theory: Sex ruins suspense.

Back in the day, love really was a battlefield for a female. Examine Jane Austen's stories carefully - there's a lot of quiet desperation there. If a woman couldn't find a husband, she was doomed to a life of dependency on the kindness of others--family, friends--and that often meant poverty.

She couldn't introduce herself to a man (a mutual acquaintance was required) and if she tried seducing a suitor not only her reputation but the reputation of her entire extended family could be ruined. She might be shunned socially, cast out of her family, and end up dying on the streets.

Single-motherhood was practically a fate worse than death, right up to the last few decades of the 20th century. Families that could, hushed it up by sending the woman away - saying she "went west for her health" or some other months-long, far-out-of-town vacation where, by the virtue of distance and anonymity in a new area, she could secretly give birth and give up her child.

Love, romance, marriage - these were life and death decisions for a woman. There was danger involved.

This isn't the case any more. Women need men like a fish needs a bicycle, right? ;)

A single woman can have everything on her own--a career, a child, her own place in society, success, happiness. She can have sex with whomever, whenever.

And since sex sells, the heroine is often required to have glorious sex every other chapter.

However, if you have a romance book where the conflict is: The sex is fantastic but do I really love him? You don't have any urgency. It's mundane. There's no danger anymore.

With male/male romance, the love itself is the danger.

Just by existing, it could threaten the welfare and future of the men involved, and their families - and extended families if the book is historical. In fact, the mere love itself could lead to jail time or death--right up to the last few decades of the 20th century (and even later).

So with m/m romance, the reader is actively engaged in cheering for the couple to succeed, hoping that, against all odds, despite all the blocks society placed in their way, they find their Happily Ever After.

There can still be hot sex, but many readers like the Forbidden Love aspect best. The longing looks. Breathless meetings. Fleeting touches.

The way het romance used to be written.

So anyway. That's my theory.

And the fact that two hot men are hot. :)

For all in a twenty mile radius...

In case you haven't seen this:

And now, the Fallout New Vegas version:

Many thanks to Hark A Vagrant and the Fallout KinkMeme.

New Cover for Vampire Close

RT Faery Ball 2010

Photo courtesy RT BookReviews

Women - Know Your Place

Scarily enough, there really was a time when people truly believed that too much education would drive a female insane.

How to find a husband

How to maintain not only a stiff upper lip

Happy Valentine's Day!

Captain Jack and Doctor Shippiness

Wuthering About HeathKitty

I saw a new-to-me version of Wuthering Heights on Netflix last night and now I'm wondering if I should watch it or not.

You see, I don't like Wuthering Heights.
Love Jane Eyre.
Really don't like Wuthering Heights. Yes, I get that Heathcliff is a classic romantic doomed hero.

But Cathy married another man!

So, instead of being HeathKitty, he should have moved on. Why did he even like her to begin with? She was mean to him, selfish and annoying.

And she married another man!

How's that going to work in the afterlife? Remember, there's that thing about how Cathy and Heathcliff are ghosts together at the end--but what's-his-name is going to be there, too, right? I mean, they're buried all in a row. Are they going to have a threesome?

But I've seen several of the other adaptations - including the Timothy Dalton (yum!) version, so I should probably watch this other one just to complete the set.

What do y'all think? Are there some Wuthering Heights fans out there who disagree with my assessment?