Please welcome Linda
Nightingale and her spicy new novel Morgan D’Arcy. Tell us about this romantic
vampire story.
Certainly and thanks for having
me, M. S.
A titled lord, concert
pianist, and … vampire, Morgan D’Arcy has everything he wants…except what he
most desires…the woman of his dreams—the search is on.
Morgan D’Arcy: A Vampyre
Rhapsody
By Linda Nightingale
The Wild Rose Press, September,
2016
Rating: Spicy
Blurb:
The greatest enemy of a vampire
is boredom. Four centuries of existence have taught Lord Morgan Gabriel D'Arcy
to fear nothing and no one. Humans and their weapons have little chance against
his preternatural speed and arcane powers. Vampires are viral mutations of
human DNA. Still, the Vampyre code requires secrecy, and he has learned to hide
his nature from the world. The lure of mortality, of a life in the sun, puts
Morgan again and again at the mercy of calculating human women though they fail
to consider his charm and determination into the equation. However, even
grooming a future bride from infancy proves to be fraught with heartbreak. And
second chances are not always what they seem unless... you are Morgan.
Immortality and beauty, aren’t they grand?What have reviewers been saying about Morgan?
“…Morgan…is a tour de force of egotism, wit, sensuality, and talent…” ~Author Toni V. Sweeney
“Morgan D’Arcy is a class act and the most arresting vampire I’ve ever encountered in literature or films.” ~ Historical and Paranormal Romance Author Beth Trissel
 |
| The Vampyre Himself |
Excerpt:
To impress upon my applicant the luxury of this position, I
asked the Institut to arrange for the
initial interview to be conducted at dinner.
Excitement mounted as Jean-Pierre
assisted me to dress in a black evening suit.
My manservant draped a long white cashmere scarf around my collar and
stepped back to study his handiwork.
Defying fashion, my blond hair brushed my shoulders, but most times was
tied at my neck with a black velvet ribbon.
In the English Civil War, I’d been a Royalist, proud to be a King’s
man. Cavaliers wore their hair long.
I was anxious to meet this Dr. Wolfe. He sounded the perfect candidate for my
secret assignment. I didn’t doubt he’d
accept when I rattled the coffers, but would he be as eager to assist me in a
daring adventure?
At eight o’clock on a chill Parisian night, I arrived at the
fashionable restaurant, commissioned the best table and the establishment’s finest
bottle of wine, waiting…for a surprise.
“Lord D’Arcy?” A
stunning redhead rested a graceful hand on the chair across the table.
I nodded, drinking in her beauty and the tempting fragrance
of her blood. The lines of her dark
green dress emphasized her small waist.
The taffeta and velvet gown was elegant and stylish but probably modest
in price. Mischief sparkled in
mesmerizing eyes of the palest blue. I
wished that this vision had appeared another time and place. My intent was to greet and woo a brilliant
scientist. Soon, Dr. Wolfe would
arrive. For that meeting, I must be
alone. I rose, offering a slight bow. Skirts swishing, she wafted near enough for
me to touch.
“My name is Morgan.”
I brushed her gloved fingers to my lips.
She grinned, her enchanting eyes crinkling at the
corners. “I’m Amber Wolfe.”
Shock bled the color from my face. “Dr.
Wolfe?”
My astonishing guest fought a smile, lost the battle and
laughed. Her laughter was deep-throated,
foggy, promising hidden delights to all six of my senses. “It is evident no one saw fit to inform you
that Dr. A. Wolfe is, in fact, Dr. Amber Wolfe... a woman.”
“I apologize for staring.
If I appeared rude, I am somewhat stunned.” I hurried to hold her chair.
She sat very straight, her posture perfect. “Thank you.”
I signaled for the waiter to pour her wine. “I hope you like Cotes du Rhone.”
“Adore it.” When she
turned her head, studying the surroundings, a garnet brooch winked in the
ambient light. “In fact, I have always
wanted to dine here. The
candlelight. The rose on the table. Very…”
She lowered her head, gazing at me through her curling lashes. “Romantic.”
Dr. Wolfe, with her pale blue eyes, was flirting with
me! An accent I didn’t recognize tinted
her voice deliciously sensual. My
sleeping libido stirred. The redhead,
and her intellect, fascinated me. Grief
evaporated in the heat of her gaze. How
could I have forgotten that there would always be another interesting woman
around the next bend in the road?
“Wolfe isn’t a French name.” I pretended to peruse the
leather-bound menu.
“My father was American.
He was a wine broker, traveling often to France. He and my mother met on a holiday. He lost his heart on the Riviera. A month after he returned home, she followed
him to America. I grew up in Charleston,
South Carolina, but came back to France to study at the Institut.” She laughed
again, musical and rich as her dusky voice.
“My mother was horrified I wanted to be a scientist. She said it was a social outrage. Father was proud of me.”
“From what I’ve heard of you, Dr. Wolfe, he has reason to be
very proud.” I wanted to hear her laugh
again…all night long.
The waiter hesitated at my elbow, and in French said, “My
Lord, may I take your order?”
My French mother had taught me her native tongue. I was fluent in the language, my accent a
mixture of Bretagne and British. I
deferred to my companion, delighted when she requested lobster bisque as a starter
and an entrée of steak au poivre. Women shouldn’t eat like birds, and I
preferred expensive women. Amber Wolfe
gave every indication of being costly.
Once I’d ordered food I couldn’t eat, the waiter withdrew,
leaving us alone in the static field of attraction crackling between us. Two strangers, we sat smiling and gazing into
each other’s eyes.
“I didn’t expect to be greeted by an English lord when I
applied for the Andorra position.” She
swirled the red wine in her glass. “I
must say I am more than intrigued. If my
situation at the Institut were such
that I could volunteer my services…”
“I’m quite willing to pay.”
I nodded to the Sommelier. “Pour,
please.”
He delivered a new glass, filling it with a wine to
compliment the starter. I wished I could
taste the white Bordeaux, but I’d be violently ill. With my fresh glass, I saluted my
savior. Some god somewhere had answered
my prayer. She gave me a stunning smile,
raising her wine stem in acknowledgment.
I returned my untouched beverage to the table. “I have a few questions, if I may.”
She inclined her head, the mellow light caressing her glossy
auburn hair. Amusement twinkled in her
eyes. Dr. Wolfe was fully aware she had
ambushed me, gaining the temporary advantage.
“I’m sure you know this is a dangerous adventure. Of greater importance, to me, you must keep
everything you learn in the strictest confidence.”
She frowned. “The Institut is, of course, interested in
the Andorran tragedy. I’d thought to use my findings in my work.”
“That’s quite impossible.”
“Why does an English nobleman wish to research
anthrax?” She sipped her wine, never
breaking eye contact. “As you say, the
mission is perilous.”
“That, and other revelations, will come in time. If you commit to the position, you will be
required to sign a confidentiality agreement.”
Amber shouldered back in her chair, crossed her arms, and
stared into the distance. I studied the
emotions flitting across her face. She
was more than interested but not thrilled with the need for secrecy. The whisper of conversation and clink of
silverware on china intruded on the sudden quiet as my companion considered the
demands of the job. Her pupils dilated,
darkening her eyes. Deep in thought, she
was truly lovely.
She roused, tossing me a coquettish glance. “You had no idea I’d be a woman, and I didn’t
dream my employer would be so handsome, Lord D’Arcy.”
“Thank you, and call me Morgan.”
“Did someone you love perish in the epidemic?"
I laughed. “You’re
fishing, Doctor. Not someone I loved,
but, yes, I knew a few of the victims.”
Her upper body inclined toward me. I’d won our battle of wits and of the sexes.
“I accept,” she said.
Buy
Links:
Wild
Rose Press: http://catalog.thewildrosepress.com/paperback-books/4567-morgan-d-arcy-a-vampyre-rhapsody-paperback.html
About
Linda:
Born
in South Carolina, Linda has lived in England, Canada, Miami, Ft. Lauderdale,
Atlanta and Houston. She’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield
of a truck pulling a horse trailer, having bred, trained and showed Andalusian
horses for many years.
Linda
has won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia
Award. She is the mother of two
wonderful sons, a retired legal assistant, member of the Houston Symphony
League, and enjoys events with her car club.
Among her favorite things are her two marvelous sons, a snazzy black
convertible, and her parlor grand piano.
She loves to dress up and host formal dinner parties.
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LNightingale - @Lnightingale
Web
Site: http://www.lindanightingale.com –
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Blog: https://lindanightingale.wordpress.com/
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Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/lbnightingale1/
Other Reads by Linda
Nightingale:
