Vera Sorokina loves reading the Penny Dreadfuls and immersing herself in tales of adventure, mystery, and romance. Her own days are filled with the often mundane work of running the book and print shop she owns with her father. The shop offers her the freedom and income to employ and protect the poverty-stricken Londoners she’s come to care about, and it gives her father something to do other than long for their hometown of St. Petersburg. She is grateful for the stability in their lives, but she often feels lonely.
Brogan Donnelly was born and raised in Ireland, but has lived in London for several years, where he’s built a career as a Penny Dreadful writer. He has dedicated himself to the plight of the poor with the help of his sister. His membership in the secretive Dread Penny Society allows him to feel he isn’t entirely wasting his life, yet he feels dissatisfied. With no one to share his life with but his sister, he fears London will never truly feel like home.
Brogan and Vera’s paths cross, and the attraction is both immediate and ill-advised. Vera knows from past experience that writers are never to be trusted, and Brogan has reason to suspect not everything at her print shop is aboveboard. When the growing criminal enterprise run by the elusive and violent Mastiff begins targeting their area of London, Brogan and Vera must work together to protect the community they’ve both grown to love. But that means they’ll need to learn to trust each other with dangerous secrets that have followed both of them from their home countries.
Guest Post ~ Real Life Setting from The Merchant and the Rogue
The Merchant and the Rogue contains a story, written in the style of a 19th Century “Penny Dreadful”–a story, usually melodramatic and over-the-top, that was published in serial form for one penny per installment–as it would have been written by the hero of The Merchant and the Rogue, Brogan Donnelly.
I set this story, a mystery filled with creepy scenery and disconcerting characters, in the real-life Museum of Natural History in Dublin, Ireland. This museum was opened in 1856 in a stately Dublin building, and very little about it has changed since. It is often described as “a museum of a museum.” Walking through this piece of Dublin history is like stepping back in time. And it is one of the most wonderfully creepy places I have ever had the joy of visiting.
The large, four-story building is filled to the rafters with taxidermied animals, skeletons, pelts, preserved fauna. Many of the specimens have been on display for over 150 years. This museum, filled with once-living creatures, is known affectionately amongst the locals in Dublin as “The Dead Zoo.”
The museum offers an online virtual tour of the exhibits, the main hall, the wings and balconies, and it is fascinating! Go have a virtual look around, then go read “The Dead Zoo” woven through The Merchant and the Rogue. The creepiness of it is some of the most fun I’ve had creating a setting.Pick Up Your Copy Today
Sarah M. Eden is a USA Today best-selling author of witty and charming historical romances, including 2020’s Foreword Reviews INDIE Awards Gold Winner for Romance, Forget Me Not, and 2020 Holt Medallion finalist, Healing Hearts. She is a two-time “Best of State” Gold Medal winner for fiction and a three-time Whitney Award winner. Combining her obsession with history and her affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting deep characters and heartfelt romances set against rich historical backdrops. She holds a bachelor’s degree in research and happily spends hours perusing the reference shelves of her local library.
In hindsight, opening a Christmas tree ornament shop in a small town was a terrible idea.
The Thanksgiving turkey is still warm, and I’m already up to my eyeballs in debt from my failed business.
To make matters worse, my knight in flannel never appeared—you know, the guy, the one who was tall, dark, and plaid, who had a friendly yellow lab and a truck and sold firewood, the one who showed the big-city heroine the true meaning of love and Christmas.
Yeah, he did not come rescue me.
Instead, Matt Frost showed up like the Prince of Winter to yell at me about the rent I owed him.
He did not feature in any of my Christmas fantasies. In fact, he was exactly the type of Christmas-hating alphahole billionaire in a suit I left Manhattan to escape.
I can’t worry about him.
I need to fix my life.
I have to make a bunch of money before Christmas Eve or I’m a toasted marshmallow.
No ornament will be left off this Christmas tree of desperation!
Gambling on the Christmas raffle that lets you win either ten thousand dollars, a giant snow globe, or a snack-addicted reindeer? Spin that roulette wheel and bring it on.
Moonlighting as an elf for an irate Santa? Mama’s gotta get paid.
Entering in The Great Christmas Bake-Off in hopes of winning the grand prize? Fetch me my custom elf apron.
I so have this bake-off wrapped, ribboned, and in my Christmas stocking.
Except when I’m paired with Matt the Grinch, I see my dreams of a debt-free Christmas going up in Yule log flames.
Matt Frost and I are not compatible baking partners.
Especially not after he licks the frosting off my Christmas cookies while I scream.
Not like that! He’s a Christmas-hating Scrooge who ruined my bake-off entry.
I am not in the market for a Christmas romance.
Especially not with a six-foot-five guy with ice-blue eyes and washboard abs.
No, not even when he’s covered in frosting, standing in front of a decorated tree, and looking better than an edible Christmas card.
“This is a bomb cookie,” I said happily, taking a picture of the finished dessert for Instagram. “I’m totally winning.”
A shadow passed over my baking station, and the temperature dropped ten degrees.
“This is your big plot to find my rent money?”
I looked up into Matt’s icy blue eyes.
“I have a multipronged approach.”
“You need to get a real job,” he said curtly. “Running a Christmas ornament shop is not a real job, and neither is participating in a bake-off. You’re not winning, and you’re delusional if you think so.”
“Neither are you,” I replied hotly. “They clearly just brought you on as the pretty face. Though why they bothered I’m not sure. Clearly, everyone is going to have eyes for Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Flannel over there.”
“Brody?” Matt snarled.
I laughed.
“Isn’t he amazing?” I continued, needling Matt.
As if he knew we were talking about him, Brody turned to catch me staring. I blew him a kiss, smirking when Matt growled in annoyance then swooning a little bit when Brody flexed his pec muscles at me. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“It’s not even sanitary,” Matt hissed through his teeth.
“Ooh, someone’s jealous!”
“I’m not.” Matt slammed his hands down on my table.
“Watch it!” I yelled. “You’re going to mess up my cookies. I don’t want your Christmas-hating cooties all over my dessert.”
“Too late,” Matt said and picked up the cookie I had just spent ten minutes decorating.
“Don’t you dare touch my cookies!” I shrieked.
“A lot of women want me to touch their cookies,” Matt said, the corner of his mouth quirking.
“Doubtful,” I retorted, grabbing across the table to the cookie.
He held it aloft.
“In fact, they want me to lick them.”
“I swear I will have you gutted and stuffed as a Christmas tree ornament,” I warned.
“So, you don’t want me to lick your cookies?” He gave me a smoldering glare.
Lick my…oh…ohhh…shit.
My face went hot under the stickers, glitter makeup, and hair spray.
No.
Yes.
Maybe?
No, Merrie, jeez!
“I have standards,” I told him.” There’s only one man here who I’d want to lick my cookies, and it’s not you, so give me back that snowman.”
“I’m supposed to be judging,” he retorted, “and I can’t do that without a taste test.”
Then he licked my freaking Christmas cookie! Ten whole minutes of frosting work was gone.
“You… you!” I sputtered. “I spent a million years decorating that.”
He bit the head off the snowman then tossed it back on the platter.
“That was actually pretty good for a Christmas cookie. I think I might have to lick your cookies again.”
“You…” I wanted to curse him out, but we were on live TV, and this was supposed to be a family-friendly program. The cameramen, sensing drama like sharks sensed blood, were hovering around us.
“You…doo-doo head!” Not as satisfying as calling him a fuckface asshole but it would have to do.
Matt snorted. “I think you should stop wasting time on name-calling since you clearly suck at it and get back to baking.”
He clapped his hands at me. “Chop chop.”
Fuck this asshole.
“Chop this!” I hollered, scooping out a handful of bright-red royal icing and throwing it at him.
Matt cursed, for real, with multiple F-bombs because if you were some sort of moneyed Manhattan type, you did not care about ruining the sanctity of The Great Christmas Bake-Off.
Bowen therapist Charlie Wilson is not interested in men or relationships. Her only concern is making sure her sister Lindsay is safe.
But then billionaire Logan Johnson walks into her rooms and stirs powerful feelings inside of her. Logan’s perfectly knotted tie is a clear indication free-spirit Charlie should steer clear of him at all costs.
They are complete opposites, so why does he keep coming back to see her?
Charlie exhaled slowly. Oh, my word, she wouldn’t be surprised if she’d burst into flames. She had no idea why this man had the ability to turn her insides to mush, but she was a quivering mess and the night was still young. Listening to her instincts—that was what she should be doing, but where were they when she needed them?
And where was Lindsay? She had to get out of there before she did something completely stupid, like ending up on Logan’s lap.
Her sister wasn’t at the table, and frantically, she searched through the throng of people in the pub. Finally, she saw Lindsay heading back toward their table, but something was wrong. Even in the dim light of the pub, she could see her sister was pale.
“I have to get to my sister,” Charlie said, and tried to move her chair.
Logan looked at her. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to get to Lindsay,” she repeated urgently.
Logan got up quickly and moved out of her way. Lindsay was in Charlie’s arms before she took another step.
“What happened?”
“He…he’s found me, Charlie. He knows where I am!” she repeated over and over.
With her arms around her sister, Charlie quickly walked them out of the bar. They’d strolled over to meet there earlier—it was such a lovely evening—but now she rather wished they’d taken the car.
“I can take you home,” Logan said, behind her. “My car is parked right here.” He motioned toward a black sports car.
Charlie didn’t even think to protest. How was it possible that Lindsay’s ex-boyfriend had discovered their whereabouts? They’d been so careful. Not even their closest friends back in South Africa knew where they were going.
She helped Lindsay into the back of the car and slid in next to her. Logan nodded as if he understood her reluctance to leave her sister, even for a minute.
“It’s not far—down the street and then the second one to your right,” she said, holding tightly on to Lindsay, who was shaking like a leaf.
Charlie took Lindsay’s hand. “Sweetie, what happened?” Lindsay opened her phone. “Look at the last email,” she hiccupped.
I write love stories because I love reading them. I like the heroines to be feisty, independent and headstrong. And the heroes must be strong but possess a generous amount of sensitivity and should of course, be gorgeous!
