How erotic can a historical romance get? Especially with straight-laced Victorians, prudish Puritans or proper Regency society?

When an agent asked if I could turn my Regency-set romance into an erotic romance, it turns out it wasn’t that hard. The fact that the Regency was a period where proper manners and polite society were of paramount importance made the taboo even more naughty.

The granddaddy of kinky wickedness—the “S” in BDSM—lived from 1740 to 1814. The Marquis de Sade was a French aristocrat and sexual libertine. One of his affairs involved his wife’s sister. Others involved prostitutes and servants. According to Wikipedia, “[h]e coerced women into performing sodomy, mutual flagellation, and other unorthodox sexual acts, and poisoned several of them with aniseed and cantharides.” His mother-in-law secured an arrest warrant, and de Sade was eventually imprisoned in the Bastille in the 1780’s. During his imprisonment there, he wrote his magnum opus, The 120 Days of Sodom.

My historical romances are mostly set in early 19^th century England, and de Sade’s works were not widely published then. According to Wikipedia, the first uncensored English translation of his novel, Justine, or The Misfortunes of Virtue, was not published until the 1950’s. But de Sade wasn’t the only novelist writing kinky stories.*

John Cleland (1709-1789) was arrested for the 1748 publication of his novel Fanny Hill: or, the Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure. The story, featuring a young innocent woman and her sexual encounters as a prostitute, includes menage, orgies, voyeurism, flagellation and non-consent fantasies.

After reading de Sade and Cleland, I didn’t find the idea of a BDSM club set in a historical so far-fetched. (Actually, nothing I can think of can come close to the stuff de Sade wrote in The 120 Days of Sodom, which was required reading in my political philosophy class in college.) I had a lot of fun researching what was possible, and the prevailing norms of society back then only adds more tension to the erotic elements.

If you’re curious to read an erotic historical romance, you can get a free copy of my book, Punishing Miss Primrose, here. It starts off steamy but gets more wickedly wanton as it progresses.

About Punishing Miss Primrose

The Marquess of Carey intends to provide Miss Primrose a set-down she will never forget after what she did to his brother at the Inn of the Red Chrysanthemum, where members indulge in illicit pleasures. He entices the wicked harlot to spend a sennight at his estate. But when Miss Primrose enflames his passions, will she prove too hot for him to handle?

Get your free copy here!

*’Kinky’ may be far too tame a word to describe de Sade’s writings, which many find extremely disturbing.

January 2017! A new year and new adventures, hopefully good ones, await us. Best of all, for the not so good days, we’ve got books! Reading takes us away from the present moment and immerses us in pleasure. My mission today is to provide a time of reading pleasure for you.

One of my personal favorites in writing and reading romance is a steamy historical. Men wielding swords, their warrior bodies muscled and scarred—whew, what’s not to like? More than the allure of warriors, though, I enjoy being transported to another time and place. Plus there’s the actual glimpse of history—what did our ancestors face in their struggle to survive? How did the relationship between a man and woman differ from what we experience now?

All those ideas and more course through a writer’s thoughts as she creates a historical romance. For myself, reading actual history or other works of historical fiction helps put me in the mood as well as instructs me on details I need to make my story rich and factual. In the story below, for example, I had read Bernard Cornwell’s Saxon series, which I highly recommend. This series is popular, so you can usually find it in your local library.

Here’s the opening scene to my story, “The Dane’s Bride.” And here’s a coupon code WQ54S you can use to get the rest of the story FREE at Smashwords. (https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/610250)

Aetherlin stared at the man through the leaping flames of the firepit. Hrald, Jarl of Dunholm. Her hands clenched in want of a weapon. Taut muscle quivered in her legs, eager for escape. Breath hitched in her throat.

Fire cast his shadow to the far wall as if he were a denizen of Hell itself, his tall frame looming and pale eyes glittering in the orange-red reflection. He wore fitted leather leggings and an open vest over his muscled chest. Lengths of dark hair brushed his wide shoulders. Gold bands wrapped his biceps and forearms, badges of his prowess in battle and the respect of his tribesmen. His forehead creased in his determined expression, although the quirk of his cruel mouth bespoke lascivious thoughts. About her. And what he would do to her.

In spite of the message of anger and resistance she sent with her glare, he did not relent in his survey of her. His gaze lingered over her red marriage dress with its scrolling needlework and golden thread. Her attending lady had wept as she dressed her in the clothing ordered by her father Aetherwulf, Earldorman of Gloucestershire. These were not garments Aetherlin would have chosen, cut low to reveal the curve of her breasts to present her body as if a fattened goose. But then, she would not have chosen this day, this man. Or perhaps any man at all.

“Loose your hair, maid,” Hrald commanded, his deep voice echoing through the empty hall.

Her body stiffened. Again she thought to refuse, to turn and run. But the great hall had been emptied and the door barred. She had been given to him, to be his chattel just as the hall itself, the trenchers and tables, the servants moving in the adjacent kitchens and storerooms, his pledged warriors and lesser vassals going about their evening tasks in the courtyard, the stables. Who was she, a mere woman, to fight off this hardened warrior?

In a fury, she yanked off the narrow silver band holding the linen scarf and flung them to the floor. Her thick braid took more time as her numb fingers combed through the long wavy strands, separating and spreading them over her shoulders and chest. Golden glints of firelight reflected on the red-blonde hair. Aetherlin could not look at him, but she knew his gaze stayed on her—it burned like coals on her skin.

He said nothing for a time. The fire’s crackle barely matched the noise of her heart thudding in her ears. Did he mean to possess her here, in the public hall?

“Now the dress,” he demanded.

His voice had taken a husky tone. That recognition startled her. She wished it did not matter whether he cared about what she did. Surely he did not want her, but rather embraced the power, lands, and wealth that came with the marriage. Still, his reaction caused her to flush.

Her glance flew to his face. What did he intend, forcing her to undress in the main hall? Anyone could enter, even though he had dismissed them all. Would he shame her? What man treated his bride so coarsely?

A fiend, that’s who, she answered her own question. A filthy, bloodthirsty Dane.

His eyes had narrowed and his body leaned slightly forward so that the spiraling patterns carved into his leather vest picked up more of the fire’s light and seemed to move of their own accord. Likewise, the inked design of dragons rippled over his muscled arms as if alive. His dark hair brushed at his wide shoulders, casting his clean-shaven jaw in shadow.

Why did he not simply rip down her clothes like the ravening beast he was?  The sudden thought of such an act caused her heart to leap against her ribs. Her fingers stumbled at the clasps. The heavy woolen dress fell to the floor around her ankles. She stood in the linen shift, waiting, her breath shallow and fast.

“Do you think I wish only to see your undergarments?” he questioned in a hard voice.

“I think you wish to lower me, so that I am the least of all possible things,” she snapped back. “Expose me to your savage acts, like a village girl at the hands of your men.”

Today I sit in the snow-clad wilds of the Ozark Mountains watching the woods with my cats and hound dogs snuggled near the wood stove. I’ve been writing my entire life and can’t express how wonderful it is to share stories with readers like you. Nab more of my exciting romance short stories, novellas, and novels at your favorite bookseller.

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Hello, everyone! Thank you for having me as a guest, Delilah, and thank you for stopping by!

I’d like to talk about genre switching and how I decide what to write. I loved reading medievals, and eventually decided to write one. An idea for the first scene popped into my head (see excerpt below). Figuring out why the heroine was riding a horse, who would see and what happened next led to my becoming a pantser, meaning I write from the seat of my pants rather than plotting first.

After purchasing many research books on 15^th century England, sticking with that time period made sense. So I wrote three more. One, actually the second book I wrote, still remains “under the bed,” as they say. I love the story, but I wrote it via multiple characters’ points of view, while most books focus on the hero and heroine. I haven’t quite figured out how to tell the story with two points of view….

After a version of my first book, AT HIS COMMAND, won Romance Writers of America® national Golden Heart® award, I had high hopes of publishing it with Harlequin. Unfortunately, after two years and two requests for revisions, they said no. So I self-published that and three other medievals. The most recent, MY ONCE AND FUTURE LOVE, adds paranormal and Arthurian elements. Too many, or does the amount of genre blending you’ll accept depend on the story? I started a second in what I hope will be the Unsung Knights of the Round Table series.

Meanwhile, Kathryn LeVeque invited me to write a novella for her Kindle world. She assigned me the story of her hero’s best friend’s parents, which meant the setting had to be around 1200AD….much earlier than my familiar period. A lot changed in more than two hundred years! I ended up in France, because I wanted to incorporate an actual event, the siege of Chateau Galliard…where people were trapped outside in winter between the French camp and the English-held chateau.

When I get an idea, I want to see where it goes. So I’ve also written two humorous women’s fiction books and a time travel to Elizabethan England, all of which I plan to release this year. Do you follow authors you like if they genre hop, or do you prefer they stick to one time period? Anyone who comments will be entered to win an e-book of AT HIS COMMAND, in which the king commands her to marry a lord, but she’s falling for the knight sent to protect her from undesirable suitors.

Excerpt:

Sir Nicholas Grey’s scout leaned forward in his saddle, holding up two fingers to let the others know two horses approached. Nicholas heard only the slight jangling of harnesses blended with wind rattling through the trees, but relied on his scout’s uncanny ability to hear what no one else could.

He and his eight men sat alert, deep enough in the forest to avoid being seen while maintaining a clear view of the road through leafless branches. Nine armed men could frighten travelers. ‘Twas best to let them pass.

Each man watched, each horse sinking deeper into chilling mire as a mud-covered, black palfrey plodded over the rise in the road, its long mane whipping in the frigid winds.

“No rider,” Martin, the scout, murmured.

“Look again,” Nicholas replied. At first he too had thought the horse was riderless. Now he could see a woman collapsed on the animal’s back. Her dark hair draped down its flank, mingling with the horse’s mane. The palfrey placed each step as if trying not to jostle its burden.

Another horse, this one a brown rouncey ridden by a thin, balding man, galloped after the palfrey. A look of triumph brightened the man’s face as he spotted the horse ahead of him. He bent forward, extending his hand. Fingers like talons grasped the woman’s tangled hair.

“Mine!” he cried.

MY ONCE AND FUTURE LOVE

Morgan ap Myrddin must rescue his father, Merlin, from imprisonment. But enemies have wounded him, draining his powers. Annora of Amberton flees her castle to seek proof that she’s not a lunatic as her uncle declared when claiming wardship over her and her lands.

Morgan stumbles upon Annora’s cottage and enlists her aid. As he helps her in return, respect and undeniable desire spark. But he won’t succumb to the lure of a mortal woman as his father did. She’s wary of caring for a man who won’t discuss his past. When he tells her he’s a Knight of the Round Table, she fears he’s the lunatic. Secrets, danger and destiny thwart the power of love.

About Ruth

Ruth Kaufman is the author of MY ONCE AND FUTURE LOVE and the Wars of the Roses Brides trilogy, AT HIS COMMAND, FOLLOW YOUR HEART and THE BRIDE TOURNAMENT. Accolades include 2016 Booksellers’ Best Historical and Best First Book award winner and Romance Writers of America® Golden Heart® winner.

An actor and speaker with an M.S. and J.D, Ruth has had roles in independent feature films, web series, pilots, national TV commercials and hundreds of voiceover projects. She enjoys chocolate peanut butter milkshakes and singing in a symphony chorus.

Website www.ruthkaufman.com
Blog: Gainfully Unemployed http://www.rjkaufman.blogspot.com/
Twitter @RuthKaufman https://twitter.com/RuthKaufman
Facebook: Ruth Kaufman Author & Actress https://www.facebook.com/ruthtalks
Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7454412.Ruth_Kaufman
Amazon Author Page Ruth Kaufman

Like most writers, I get asked regularly where I get my ideas. If the questioner is referring to one of my more steamy stories, the question is often accompanied by either an embarrassed chuckle, or a bold wink.

I find it difficult to say where the plot comes from but I can say exactly where the idea for the location comes from. My own town has served as the model for the location, as has a nearby city, and the village where my mum was raised. I’ve also invented cities and entire countries.

For my most recent release (If Wishes Were Earls, available for pre-order) I knew I wanted my Victorian-set historical romance to take place in Cornwall. The idea of Cornwall has intrigued me from the time I first read Daphne du Maurier. And again whilst watching Poldark on TV – both the original and the more recent version. And in a more light-hearted vein, Doc Martin (BBC TV program).

Cornwall is a large county though, so I had to narrow it down. I turned to a favorite research source – maps. I needed a small village, but it had to be fairly near a larger town that would have rail service, a necessary feature in the plot that was developing in my notebook. I chose St. Erth as my village, the nearest train station is in Hayle, and my heroine and her BFF live in Camborne, just a few stops up the line.

Now, here’s the funny/spooky part. Eons ago I worked as a nanny for a family in London. On my most recent trip to that city last month I had dinner with the mum, dad and little boy, who is now in his early 30’s! (I did say it was eons ago.) We were talking about my writing and when I mentioned the village of St. Erth there was a gasp of amazement. They own a summer cottage a stone’s throw away, and have been to St. Erth and Hayle.

The universe is strange and wondrous.

Where is your favorite village, town or city? Either somewhere you’ve been, or somewhere you are dreaming of going. I really, really want to visit Scotland, the land of my forefathers. One lucky commenter will win a prize pack of autographed books and fun conference swag.  (Sorry, this contest is open to residents of USA and Canada only.)

If Wishes Were Earls

A mysterious letter and an enchanted keepsake promise to lead Miranda to her heart’s desire. Or does her heart secretly yearn for more than a sexy earl?

When a mysterious note directs Miss Miranda Large to a tiny village in Cornwall to find her heart’s desire, she has no choice but to go. An enchanted keepsake heightens her curiosity. A snowstorm forces her to accept the hospitality of a sullen, albeit sexy and handsome, earl and Miranda’s wish doesn’t seem so out of reach.

Edward Penhallion, the 12^th Earl of Claverlock, is not in the mood to start his search for a new wife. He wants to be left alone with his books and his dreams of revenge. But the arrival of a headstrong, sharp-tongued spinster forces him to play the charming host. Not a difficult task, given her intelligence and beauty. Suddenly, he’s not terribly eager for her to leave.

But as the snow falls and the winds blow, Edward discovers there’s more to Miranda than a lively wit and a lovely face. And Miranda wonders if the trappings of wealth are enough for true happiness.

 

Amazon:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01N0QJSHA/
Draft2Digital: https://www.draft2digital.com/book/209375

About the Author

Luanna Stewart has been creating adventures for her imaginary friends since childhood. As soon as she discovered her grandmother’s stash of romance novels, all plots had to lead to a happily-ever-after.

Born and raised in Nova Scotia, Luanna now lives in Maine with her dear husband, two college boys, and two cats. When she’s not torturing her heroes and heroines, she’s in her kitchen baking something delicious.

Writing under the pen name Grace Hood, she has two novellas published with The Wild Rose Press.

Website:  http://www.luannastewart.com/
Twitter:  https://twitter.com/Luanna_Stewart
Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/Luanna.Stewart.nau
Pinterest:  https://www.pinterest.com/luannastewart/
Goodreads:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14104212.Luanna_Stewart
Amazon Author Page:  amazon.com/author/luanna_stewart

For those folks who received this book yesterday, I hope you enjoy it! I’ll admit I loved writing it. Merry and Daniel were made for each other. Both were lonely and daring, although Merry hadn’t quite reconciled with that part of her nature until she was challenged. Guess it took the right man…

For those of you who haven’t seen the story yet, you’re welcome to drool over the cover. Not sure what he’s looking at—her boobs, I think. But that’s okay, too, right? 🙂 Enjoy the excerpt!

Newly widowed Merry Winslow treks west to claim an unexpected inheritance. Upon arriving, she discovers she inherited a brothel! Rather than being dismayed, Merry’s intrigued, thinking it the perfect way to shed the shackles of propriety that have subdued her wild and impulsive nature. Only problem is, she needs to learn to manage her new business.

Nathan Boone is amused by Merry’s determination and knows the perfect way to begin her instruction. When he opens the peephole for Merry to peer inside as one of the brothel’s “soiled doves” pleasures a customer, he reveals the passion hidden beneath Merry’s “widow’s weeds”.

Get your copy here!

Excerpt from Making a Madam…

A callous-roughened finger lifted her chin. “Do you want me to stop, Merry? I don’t consider this part of our bargain.”

She opened her mouth to tell him it was all happening too fast, that she needed time to think, but her gaze locked with his.

Candlelight didn’t reach the shadowy hollows of his deep-set eyes, lending him a sinister appearance. Her heart skittered for a moment then her glance lowered to his mouth.

She’d barely had a taste of him, yet his lips were still blurred from their kiss, his bottom lip slightly swollen and oh-so tempting to explore.

The undisciplined part of her, the one she’d finally unleashed only this morning, made her rise on her toes and press her mouth to his to savor the taste and texture of him. Whiskey mixed with salt, firm but soft lips…

His mouth opened immediately, and his tongue thrust between her lips, sliding over her tongue, reaching deep to stroke and glide, filling Merry’s head with visions of Nathan gliding over the tops of her breasts and suckling her nipples, just as Johnny had done to Daisy.

Nathan’s hands slid up and down her back, his grip strengthening as he reached lower and cupped her bottom again, pressing her closer to the thick ridge crowding inside his pants.

Remembering the sight of Johnny’s cock and the way Daisy had pleased him, Merry’s doubts burned away, and she felt suddenly eager to see what she’d taken so deep inside her own body.

She tore her mouth from his. “I’d like to see you,” she said, in a thick voice she barely recognized as her own.

“Shall I undress for you?” he asked, gliding moist lips along her cheek.

“Please. Quickly.”

His hands dropped away from her, and he stepped back.

Golden light from the oil lamp on her desk, and the one candle beside her bed, flickered over him as he stripped. His jacket landed beside his feet. His suspenders slid from his broad shoulders. When his crisp white shirt lay crumpled beside him, she lifted her gaze to follow the curve of the tops of his powerful shoulders and the thick, ropey muscles of his chest and abdomen. A light dusting of dark hair stretched between his flat nipples and arrowed down toward his trousers.

She realized with a start he hadn’t worn anything beneath his shirt, no long-handled underwear, and she wondered if he’d bothered with any undergarments below.

Feeling breathless as his hands hovered over the button at the top of his pants, she flattened a hand against her chest, which only made her more aware of the shallow breaths lifting her chest and the heavy thud of her heartbeat. “Why did you stop?” she blurted out.

“Sorry,” he said, flicking open the button. “I was too busy watching you, and wondering if I needed to get you out of that corset.”

“I am a little winded, but please,” she said, waiving toward his lower body, “continue.”

Disappointingly, he started this time with his boots, toeing them off one at a time then drawing off his woolen socks. As his hands returned to the waist of his trousers, her breath caught and held.

He tugged down his trousers, wincing when they snagged. He reached inside and cupped his erection then worked his clothing the rest of the way down his hips. When he straightened, she understood the deep sigh he let out.

His cock strained upward, thick and straight against his belly. Much larger than Johnny’s—and even more impressive than the glass cock Daisy had stroked inside herself.

Merry stared for a long moment, noting the ruddy color of his shaft, the purplish shade of the rounded head. It pulsed once, up and down, a little telltale jerk that she knew he couldn’t control since he stood so stiffly, waiting for her comment.

“Please stay just like that,” she whispered, reaching for the buttons behind her neck, opening her dress slowly and awkwardly until the front fell forward, exposing the top of her corset and the gentle swell of her bosom. A few more tiny buttons, and she slid down the skirt to pool around her feet. Her petticoats followed, and then she bent to unbutton her boots and slid them off, only realizing as she straightened, that she’d given him a view of her breasts plumping above the restrictive corset.

She flushed, wishing she wasn’t so absurdly shy. He stood with his cock bared, and she still had clothing covering most of her womanly parts.

“Let me unlace you,” he said, his voice sounding tight and husky.

She walked toward him and slowly turned her back. His nimble fingers plucked the laces until the hard boning relaxed, and the corset fell away. At last, she could draw a deep breath. Then wearing only her chemise and drawers, she faced him.

His glance swept her body then met hers. Tension tightened his large, muscled frame. His hands settled on his hips as he waited.

She supposed it was only fair. Merry pushed down the shoulders of her chemise, one at a time, lifting her arms out, but keeping her breasts covered with the fabric. She wished she’d thought to douse the lights before she bared the rest for his gleaming gaze. “Maybe you could turn around…”

A tic pulsed along the side of his jaw, but his features softened, and he stepped out of his trousers and turned.

This view of his body did nothing to ease her embarrassment. His shoulders only seemed wider, narrowing to a trim waist. His buttocks were rounded, firm, and she had the strangest urge to cup them.

“Are you going to change your mind, Merry?” he said, still facing away.

“I’ll admit I’m a little disconcerted, undressing for you like this. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

“Because your breasts aren’t as large as Daisy’s?”

“Neither are my hips.”

“I’ll like everything I see, I promise. I’m partial to slender women.”

“Have you done this with many women?”

“Enough I’ve learned how to please a woman. Will you let me show you what I’ve learned?”

If you think Hillary Clinton’s got it bad as a female running for President, take a look at how Victoria Woodhull, the first woman to ever run for President in the U.S. spent her Election Day: in jail.

To gain the proper perspective, we need to go back a few months. The summer of 1872 was very hard for Victoria. She was ill with a mysterious ailment that couldn’t be diagnosed and that recurred several times over three months. Her beloved newspaper, Woodhull & Claflin’s Weekly, shut down due to lack of funds. She had already been forced to sell her Murray Hill mansion, and then was kicked out of several hotels, while others wouldn’t rent a room to her (no one wanted to be associated with her or the controversy that surrounded her). She and her family (husband, kids, parents, brothers and sisters) lived for while in the Woodhull & Claflin brokerage offices, but when the landlord found out, he raised her rent so high they were forced to abandon even that location, so that they were homeless for a few days. In desperation, she sent a note to Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, asking for his help to get one of the hotels to let them stay there. He curtly refused.

Her sister, Maggie, eventually managed to rent a place for them to stay under an assumed name. Victoria was tired and still ill, worn out from the whirlwind of her year, which had started off so promising. In September, at a meeting of the National Convention of American Spiritualists in Boston, she decided to finally spill the beans on Rev. Henry Ward Beecher – revealing her long-kept secret that the married preacher was having an affair with Lib Tilton, wife of Theodore Tilton, Victoria’s former lover.

Not satisfied by this small audience – and perhaps in revenge for Rev. Beecher’s refusal to come to her aid in her hour of need – Victoria began plotting on a larger scale. She and Tennie would resurrect Woodhull & Claflin’s Weekly for one more explosive issue (though this didn’t turn out to be its last, only it’s most famous) that would right two long-hidden wrongs. While Victoria told every detail of the Beecher-Tilton scandal she could recall in a fake interview format, Tennie penned a story about the night a businessman named Luther Challis relieved a young girl of her virginity, likely against her will.

Victoria’s “bombshell” was hidden within a seemingly ordinary issue of the newspaper, but that did not stop people from lapping up the scandal inside. According to my sources, the paper sold for 10 cents but by evening people were paying $2.50. The first run of 10,000 copies sold quickly. Some people rented theirs to read for $1.00 a day. One copy even sold for $40. More than 250,000 copies sold in three days. The distributor, American News Company, refused to replace it on the stands after the first 100,000 copies were sold so newsboys came to their offices to get them in person. Some copies were bought and destroyed by Beecher’s supporters, for the article called in to question the idea of marriage as a bedrock of society.

But in the end, it wasn’t Victoria’s story that landed both sisters in jail on Election Day; it was Tennie’s. In telling her tale of Luther Challis’ lewd behavior, Tennie used a line that, although also quoted in the Bible (Deuteronomy), was considered obscene. “To prove he had seduced a maiden, he carried for days on his finger, exhibiting in triumph, the red trophy of her virginity.” Then, when they were tricked into mailing a copy of the paper to Anthony Comstock, the country’s self-appointed moral guardian, they were arrested for sending obscene material through the mail.

So instead of spending Election Day out attempting to vote for herself and getting arrested – and in the process making history ­– Victoria sat with Tennie in the jail cell of a common criminal. (Normally they would have been given special accommodations because they were wealthy public figures, but both the guest quarters and citizen bedroom were full at the time. And to add insult to injury, Victoria’s one-time-friend-turned-rival Susan B. Anthony made history that day by casting her ballot in Rochester, NY. She was arrested and found guilty but refused to pay the fine. Her sensational trial the following year spread her message of suffrage far and wide – just as Victoria had dreamed of doing on her own.

Forty-eight years before women were granted the right to vote, one woman dared to run for President of the United States, yet her name has been virtually written out of the history books.

Rising from the shame of an abusive childhood, Victoria Woodhull, the daughter of a con-man and a religious zealot, vows to follow her destiny, one the spirits say will lead her out of poverty to “become ruler of her people.”

But the road to glory is far from easy. A nightmarish marriage teaches Victoria that women are stronger and deserve far more credit than society gives. Eschewing the conventions of her day, she strikes out on her own to improve herself and the lot of American women.

Over the next several years, she sets into motion plans that shatter the old boys club of Wall Street and defile even the sanctity of the halls of Congress. But it’s not just her ambition that threatens men of wealth and privilege; when she announces her candidacy for President in the 1872 election, they realize she may well usurp the power they’ve so long fought to protect.

Those who support her laud “Notorious Victoria” as a gifted spiritualist medium and healer, a talented financial mind, a fresh voice in the suffrage movement, and the radical idealist needed to move the nation forward. But those who dislike her see a dangerous force who is too willing to speak out when women are expected to be quiet. Ultimately, “Mrs. Satan’s” radical views on women’s rights, equality of the sexes, free love and the role of politics in private affairs collide with her tumultuous personal life to endanger all she has built and change how she is viewed by future generations.

This is the story of one woman who was ahead of her time – a woman who would make waves even in the 21^st century – but who dared to speak out and challenge the conventions of post-Civil War America, setting a precedent that is still followed by female politicians today.

Get your copy here!

About the Author

Nicole Evelina is a multi-award-winning historical fiction and romantic comedy writer. Her most recent novel, Madame Presidentess, a historical novel about Victoria Woodhull, America’s first female Presidential candidate, was the first place winner in the Women’s US History category of the 2015 Chaucer Awards for Historical Fiction.

Her debut novel, Daughter of Destiny, the first book of an Arthurian legend trilogy that tells Guinevere’s life story from her point of view, was named Book of the Year by Chanticleer Reviews, took the Grand Prize in the 2015 Chatelaine Awards for Women’s Fiction/Romance, won a Gold Medal in the fantasy category in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, a Gold Medal in the fantasy category in the Reader’s Favorite Awards, and was short-listed for the Chaucer Award for Historical Fiction. Its sequel, Camelot’s Queen, was awarded the prestigious B.R.A.G Medallion.  Been Searching for You, her contemporary romantic comedy, won the 2016 Colorado Independent Publishers Association Award for Romance, the 2015 Romance Writers of America (RWA) Great Expectations and Golden Rose contests and was a finalist in the chick-lit category of the Readers Favorite Awards.

Nicole’s writing has appeared in The Huffington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Independent Journal, Curve Magazine and numerous historical publications. She is one of only six authors who completed a week-long writing intensive taught by #1 New York Times bestselling author Deborah Harkness. As an armchair historian, Nicole researches her books extensively, consulting with biographers, historical societies and traveling to locations when possible. For example, she traveled to England twice to research the Guinevere’s Tale trilogy, where she consulted with internationally acclaimed author and historian Geoffrey Ashe, as well as Arthurian/Glastonbury expert Jaime George, the man who helped Marion Zimmer Bradley research The Mists of Avalon.

Nicole is a member of and book reviewer for The Historical Novel Society, as well as a member of the Historical Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, the St. Louis Writer’s Guild, Women Writing the West, Alliance of Independent Authors, the Independent Book Publishers Association and the Midwest Publisher’s Association.

Her website is http://nicoleevelina.com/. She can be reached online at:

• https://twitter.com/NicoleEvelina
• http://www.goodreads.com/nicoleevelina
• http://pinterest.com/nicoleevelina/
• https://www.facebook.com/nicoleevelinapage/
• http://instagram.com/nicoleevelina
• http://www.youtube.com/channel/UCyi5-knSn0Abm5ujfpcHgbg/videos?view_as=public