GIVEAWAY: Because who doesn’t love FREE books?

We will pick ONE winner to receive a digital book of their choice from the February romance releases.

Comment down below saying which book you’re looking most forward to reading! Giveaway is open INTERNATIONALLY. The winner will be randomly selected and announced at the end of the month.

Good luck and happy reading!

The Duke’s Men, Book 3
Release: February 4, 2025

The Hardestys of Montana, Book 4
Release: February 6, 2025

The Fortemani Family, Book 4
Release: February 11, 2025

The Lost Lords, Book 2
Release: February 13, 2025

The Westons of Montana, Book 1
Release: February 18, 2025

Southern Love Spells, Book 1
Release: February 20, 2025

The Southern Isles, Book 1
Release: February 20, 2025

Moonshine, Book 2
Release: February 20, 2025

The Careys of Cowboy Point, Book 3
Release: February 25, 2025

Taco Truck Romance, Book 2
Release: February 27, 2025

Like Charles Dickens, I have a thing for waifs and strays:  Bobby, the student who could never quite make it to one of my ninth-grade classes; Squeaky, the baby mouse my daughter and I rescued from the jaws of a neighborhood cat; and most recently “kitty cat,” a long-haired black cat who began the process of adopting us about a year ago, and who has finally moved in and taken over all the warm, comfy corners of our house. [Yes, we advertised for her owner, checked for a chip, and had our Vet administer necessary care.]

Naturally, strays populate my stories. I love telling the tale of the self-sufficient outsider who is drawn into a family’s circle of warmth and love. In the third book of The Duke’s Men series, The Lady and the Secret Lord, I couldn’t resist telling that sort of story again, this time about Robin Jones, the last of the Lost Boys for whom the Duke of Wenlocke has been finding families. Robin stubbornly resists the truth about his own past until he meets another pair of waifs. One of them, Aggie, was inspired by Dickens’ wonderful tough girl, Nancy, from Oliver Twist. Two actresses who have played Nancy in film versions of the novel are Sophie Okonedo and Bethany Muir. I wanted Aggie, secondary character that she is, to act with Nancy’s wonderful combo of toughness and sweetness that those actresses convey. I hope I’ve succeeded.

Look for Aggie and her friend in The Lady and the Secret Lord, out today. 

Cheers and happy reading,

Kate

About the Author.

Kate Moore taught English Literature to generations of high school students, who are now her Facebook friends, while she not-so-secretly penned Romances. In Kate’s stories an undeniable mutual attraction brings honorable, edgy loners and warm, practical women into a circle of love in Regency England or contemporary California. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best award winner and three-time RITA finalist, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her surfer husband, their yellow Lab, toys for visiting grandkids, and miles of crowded bookshelves.

Hello Reader,

Thanks for joining me here today. If we’ve not met, I’m Kate Moore, a fellow reader of Romance and also a writer. I write novels about falling in love standing up, mostly fully clothed, in the midst of family and friends. 

It sounds ordinary, but, of course, there is nothing ordinary about falling in love. It changes our consciousness of the world around us and of who we are. As readers, when we experience Romance novels through the characters, we, too, fall in love again. It’s a great ride, the kind you stand in line for at the amusement park just to experience once, and then dash to the end of the line, no matter the wait, to experience again.

Today, Tule releases my twenty-first Romance, The Raven’s Lady. It’s a story about a determined man’s pursuit of happiness and a spirited heroine’s rediscovery of it. 

Now wealthy, Sir Adrian Cole was once Raven, a nameless lost boy on the streets of London. (Think of the film Lion.) In Regency and post-Regency London, if you don’t know where you come from, how can you know where you belong? And Raven wants to belong. He’s over being out in the cold looking in. When his clever invention of a better fire engine and his courage in battling the great fire that destroyed the Houses of Parliament catapult him to a knighthood, he’s suddenly in the midst of the cream of London society, the ton. There he’s dazzled by an earl’s daughter and sets out to win her and, he thinks, happiness. Because he’s determined and single-minded, he won’t let anything stop him. But his sense justice makes him stand up for the underdog and brings him into conflict with the very people from whom he seeks acceptance. 

Lady Cassandra Lavenham, orphaned daughter of a duke, has had a falling out with happiness. Happiness deserted her, left her high and dry without a backward look when her first love wed another and an accident left her with a permanent injury. Now she’s desperately trying to keep the crumbling roof of Verwood Park over the heads of herself, her novelist aunt, and her imperious grandmother. Leasing Verwood to wealthy Sir Adrian Cole seems the perfect solution. But Raven is not the elderly gentleman tenant Cassie imagined. He’s young, devilishly handsome, and has an almost unconscious habit of coming to the aid of people she cares about. Cassie can’t decide whether she’s more infuriated by or attracted to him, but it doesn’t matter as he has set his heart on a cold beauty. 

Writing this story made me think about variations in story endings depending on whether the hero/heroine gets what they want and whether they still want it. Joni Mitchell’s line about Paradise comes to mind–Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone... How Raven and Cassie overcome missteps and blind spots on their road to unexpected happiness is their story. Read an excerpt below. 

I like to think of reading Romance as a kind of workout for a happy heart. It’s the best kind of workout because we make only a little effort, a little bend of the elbow, a little flick of the wrist, some rapid eye movement, and some working of our smile and laugh muscles for a great reward in renewed energy and the joy of being alive. So, I hope you’ll reach for The Raven’s Lady and start working your happiness muscles. For a chance to receive an e-book or print copy (USA only), join me at the Tule Book Club on FB today. 

Cheers,
Kate

Excerpt: 

“Stop.” She sneezed, and he handed her his handkerchief. “You are getting ahead of yourself,” she said. “Even if this house can be made livable, to get your lease you have to find your way into Grandmama’s good graces first.”

“You don’t think offering her a trainer will help?”`

“It might, but perhaps there’s something else about you that would …”

“Overcome the taint of trade in iron and glass? I assure you I have been welcome this winter in all the loftiest houses in Mayfair.”

“Have you?” Her dark brows went up. “Somehow I don’t think unbridled conceit will be a winning strategy with Grandmama.”

Raven choked. “Unbridled conceit?” 

“Apparently, you have acquired boundless confidence along with your fortune. Is that how you earned your knighthood?”

“I earned…”

She sneezed again, and Raven took hold of her elbow and led her through the house and out a door in the kitchen into a small courtyard. She leaned against a low stone wall overlooking a field, and sneezed a few more times. He waited.

“Speaking of conceit…” he began. “I wager there’s plenty of conceit in a household that can’t afford coal or servants or new gowns for a lady, but that pretends to be above leasing a portion of the property to a respectable man of means.” 

Her eyes flashed up at him. She was taller than Amabel, and fearless and frank in her bearing with no illusion of feminine frailty, and, he suspected, she was about to let him have it. Then another sneeze took her.

“Oh bother,” she said, recovering. “It’s no use getting angry. The truth is that leasing Verwood is the practical solution to our family’s dilemma. It is just that the littleness of a drawing room only twenty feet across is a strong a reminder of our circumstances.”

“Will her grace care so very much about the house if the stables prosper?” 

“No,” she admitted with a laugh. “You’re right. She will hardly spend any time here. But first we have to reconcile grandmama to you as a tenant.” 

Raven liked that we. It meant she was going to be practical. But he didn’t understand the problem exactly. “My money’s not suitable for the ladies of Verwood?”

“Your money’s fine. It’s you. You aren’t what we …” She waved a hand over his person. Even without a valet Raven had dressed himself to exacting London standards, so he couldn’t think what caused her to object to him. 

“What?”

“Expected.” She blew out a sigh. “The tenant we imagined was … old, quiet, settled… married, content to drive a gig about the lanes or shoot a few pheasants in season. You’ll be noticed.”

“You didn’t tell Trimley that you required any of these qualities in a tenant.”

“That’s because the Sir misled me. I thought Sir Adrian Cole must be a merry old nabob returned from India, or a mill owner bringing his wife and daughters from some blighted northern town to live in the healthful south. How did you acquire a ‘sir’ at your age?” 

“My age?” He no longer thought of himself as a youth. Dick Crockett was a youth. “I was knighted for making fire engines.”

“Fire engines?” The perplexed look on her face made him laugh. “When I joined my grandfather’s business, he asked me what I wanted to make. His fortune came from cannons for the army and the navy, but demand had slowed. I started with glass. Glass makes money, but it doesn’t excite my grandfather. Then I suggested we make better fire engines, engines that can pump more water, at a faster rate. He liked that idea.”

“And a better fire engine led to a knighthood?”

“Five engines. Ours were deployed against the fire in the Houses of Parliament last October.”

“You were there, fighting the fire?” 

“Yes.” His reputation as a man who fought the palace blaze meant he’d been pointed out in ballrooms all winter. Whispers had followed him. Women had looked at him with a sort of awe, and some women, with a kind of hunger.

Lady Cassandra gave him a shrewd assessing glance. Plainly, his firefighting did not stir any particular admiration in her.

He laughed and pushed away from the wall. “Not impressed? What about showing gratitude for sending disagreeable Hugh on his way?”

“I am grateful. Whatever your motive for that act, it was a kindness to Dick Crockett.”

“Motive? You suspect me of having a motive for helping a fellow who was getting the wrong end of an unfair fight?”

“You threw money at a problem and made it go away. That’s hardly heroic.”

“Does my money have to be heroic to rescue Verwood from insolvency?” 

She took a deep breath. “As I said before, it’s not the money, it’s you we need to present as an unobjectionable tenant.”

He shook his head. “You would prefer a tenant in his dotage who fought at Trafalgar or Waterloo?” 

She grinned at him and shrugged her shoulders. “Even a minor victory like Navarino would do. Mostly, it would help if you could manage to be forty or fifty and a bit more … staid.”

“That,” he said, “is beyond my power. I am staying at the Crown and can return directly if you think of any way of gaining her grace’s approval.”

“Oh, the Crown. Which horse did they give you?”

“Apollo.”

Her brows went up again. “Then you have made an impression. Apollo is the Crown’s best horse, and Grandmama likes him. You must come for tea.” 

“Tea? Why isn’t your solicitor handling the lease for you?” 

“Because women can manage their own affairs,” she snapped. 

“Tea it is, then, if you agree to support me as an acceptable tenant for Verwood, for my service to the nation.” Raven stuck out his hand to seal the bargain. He would have Trimley seek out Verwood’s solicitor and find out the reason for leaving him out of the lease plans.

She cast him a brief puzzled glance, then her hand met his. The sensation of it brought him up short, her small delicate hand in his larger one. He had been thinking of her as this forthright, strong-willed person, managing business affairs women usually left to men. The soft hand threw him off for a moment. 

She withdrew her hand, and he recovered. It was Amabel he should be thinking of, not this odd, prickly independent woman.

About the Author.

A Californian, Kate taught English lit to generations of high school students, who are now her Facebook friends, while she not-so-secretly penned Romances. In Kate’s stories an undeniable mutual attraction brings honorable, edgy loners and warm, practical women into a circle of love in Regency England or contemporary California. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best award winner and three-time RITA finalist, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her surfer husband, their yellow Lab, black cat, toys for visiting grandkids, and miles of crowded bookshelves.

GIVEAWAY: Because who doesn’t love FREE books?

We will pick ONE winner to receive a digital book of their choice from the October romance releases. Comment down below saying which book you’re looking most forward to reading! Giveaway is open INTERNATIONALLY. The winner will be randomly selected and announced at the end of the month.

Good luck and happy reading!

Check out our new romance releases for October!

Wanting a Family Man by Dani Collins
Raven’s Cove, Book 3
American Heart | Releases: Oct. 1, 2024

The Cowboy’s Christmas Wish by Kristine Lynn
The Marshall Brothers of Texas, Book 3
Texas Born | Releases: Oct. 3, 2024

Texas Cowboy Flame by Rebecca Crowley
The Stars of Texas, Book 4
Texas Born | Releases: Oct. 10, 2024

Christmas with the Texas Cowboy by Sinclair Jayne
The Texas Wolf Brothers, Book 4
Texas Born | Releases: Oct. 16, 2024

Last Christmas Crush by Mia Heintzelman
The Fortemani Family, Book 3
American Heart | Releases: Oct. 17, 2024

The Raven’s Lady by Kate Moore
The Duke’s Men, Book 2
Muse | Releases: Oct. 21, 2024

A Cowboy’s Pursuit by Anne McAllister
Cowboy, Come Home, Book 5
Montana Born | Releases: Oct. 22, 2024

Made for Mistletoe by Nan Reinhardt
The Walkers of River’s Edge, Book 3
American Heart | Releases: Oct. 24, 2024

Wish Upon A Christmas Star by Elle Douglas
The McCarthy Sisters, Book 1 (Novella)
Holiday | Releases: Oct. 29, 2024

]]> https://tulepublishing.com/2024/09/nine-new-romances-to-ring-in-our-october-releases-at-tule/feed/ 21 https://tulepublishing.com/2024/06/tule-author-kate-moore-shares-a-snippet-of-her-tule-debut-with-the-lady-and-the-thief/ https://tulepublishing.com/2024/06/tule-author-kate-moore-shares-a-snippet-of-her-tule-debut-with-the-lady-and-the-thief/#comments Thu, 13 Jun 2024 12:00:33 +0000 https://tulepublishing.com/?p=12597 Continue reading Tule Author Kate Moore shares a snippet of her Tule debut with The Lady and the Thief →]]> Hello Tule Friends!

If we haven’t met, I’m Kate Moore, a new-to-Tule author of sweet historical romances set in England. Thanks for stopping by.

Today, I’m celebrating my first release from Tule, The Lady and the Thief, Book 1 of the Duke’s Men Series. The series follows three former ‘lost boys’ of London as they discover their true identities and become the men they were meant to be with a little help (that is love) from three strong, independent women. As boys, they lived on the rooftops of a dark London rookery until their leader, Kit Jones, reunited with his family, and assumed his true place in the world as the Duke of Wenlocke. 

In this series I’ve loved playing with unlikely lovers from contrasting worlds, orphans finding unexpected fortune, and plans interrupted by disaster. Plus, writing these books has been yet another excuse for me to dive into London’s layers of history, starting with the spectacular fire of October, 1834 that burned down the old Houses of Parliament and paved the way for the iconic building we now see. You can see what the aftermath of the fire looked like at my website. 

The Lady and the Thief begins when fearless Viv Bradish, an aspiring writer, tries to take on a pickpocket in a scandalous London street. Here’s a snippet:

London, April 1835

Lark ducked into a shadowy by-street off the Strand. A narrow slit of fading blue to the west where the street rejoined the main thoroughfare told him the shops would not close for an hour or more. He fingered the ring in his pocket. He had expected the ring to trigger a memory of his mother, but the experiment failed. Now, as he had promised, he was to meet his former partner, Rook, at the meeting place Rook chose.

Babylon Street, as infamous for the display of erotic prints in its shop windows as for the grime on its cobbles, was a street where the clumsiest of pickpockets could do a prig. Even coppers stopped to stare at print shop windows, the target of all the proper souls of London’s Anti-Vice Society. As Lark slipped into a doorway to wait for Rook, his gaze caught on a chunk of clear ethereal-blue sky, where no sky should be, on the dirty stones in front of Number 36.

The days when he and Rook and all of the lost boys had roamed the rooftops of London under the sky with Boy, their leader, were long gone. Lark and Rook had stayed firmly on the ground for years, never speaking of old days or old friends. Even now when Lark had ended their partnership. For Rook, London offered an endless supply of gulls, unwary or distracted enough to give up the contents of their pockets. But Lark had investments now and money in Hammersley’s Bank, and a new set of rooms not far from Regent’s Park.

Lark shook off the unwanted recollections of his old companions. Ten years had passed since he’d left them behind. What appeared to be a piece of sky was merely a woman in a fashionable blue dress. In Babylon Street that dress made her a mark.

The mark stretched out one feminine gloved hand over the display of dusty books in front of Number 36. A bag in rich blue velvet dangled from her wrist on thin gold cords. From the tautness of the cords, Lark put the bag’s weight at two pounds. The lady had come prepared to shop, and the titles on the sagging shelf above the pavement appeared to engross her. Lark should warn her that she was tempting fate. Rook made a pass behind her, close enough to brush against her skirts. She never broke her trance-like concentration. Rook would pass again. He glanced at Lark for a signal, which Lark refused to give. He was there to persuade Rook to quit the game and take up some legitimate enterprise.

Lark looked up and down the street, assessing the scene. The usual mix of London’s citizens passed by, tradesmen and gentlemen, ladies and drabs. People who knew the neighborhood used the by-street to go about their business more quickly than the crowded Strand permitted. Other persons, the ones Rook watched for, came into the street drawn by its reputation for radical politics and erotic prints. The mark remained absorbed in her book. No doubt Rook pegged her as an easy prig.

Lark had his doubts. In the past, his job had been to read the mark and signal a yes or no to Rook. He gave the woman a more thorough scrutiny. The vivid freshness of her appearance in the grimy street was a mystery. She was more fit for Regent Street than for her sordid surroundings. Her gown of figured blue silk had the nipped waist and full skirts of the current fashion. A short dove-colored cape covered her from shoulder to waist. A plain close-fitting bonnet concealed her face, and made it impossible to guess her age. His mind rapidly calculated the sums she must have paid for fabric and dressmaker, shoes, and petticoats. Unlike the other women in the street, she appeared to be alone. He didn’t like it. Going unaccompanied to one of London’s most infamous streets spoke of bold independence.

A sign above Number 36 read SCHOOL BOOKS. Lark wondered whether the lady’s eyes had widened as she read the actual titles of the volumes on that hanging shelf. He knew them well. She tipped a book free of its neighbors and held it open in one palm. With the movement of her arm, the heavy purse slid into the crook of her elbow. That bag bothered Lark. The bend in her arm would make Rook’s job harder, but the temptation was great, especially as the lady’s concentration on her book was deep. With her free hand she turned the pages.

Lark glanced up and down the street again. Nothing looked amiss. He did not see any other fellows on the game. A girl passed with a tray of flowers on her head, and a barefoot boy teased a dog with a stick. The blue of the mark’s dress and the memories she stirred were reason enough to warn Rook off. Lark caught Rook’s eye and shook his head.

Rook went into his act anyway. Rook saw only a pigeon, and pigeons were made to be plucked. Coming along the pavement from the north, he pulled a bottle from his patched greasy coat, took a swig, and lurched forward. His boots, caked in river muck gave off a noxious stench that made people swerve into the street to avoid him. This time when he reached the mark, he slammed into her with his left shoulder, spinning her round. She dropped the book with a startled cry, stumbling back against the hanging shelves and flinging out a hand to catch hold of something. The purse slid down to her wrist. Rook snagged it and staggered on, bent low to the ground, dropping his bottle.

The dropped bottle was Lark’s old cue to enter the scene. He stepped out of the doorway and strode forward. “Miss, may I help? You look …” His voice faltered as he caught sight of her face. Nothing had prepared him for the effect of large, startled dark eyes above cheeks of pearl and roses.

Her dark glance flicked his way and swung back to Rook’s retreating figure. Her expression changed. She righted herself and reached under her short cape.

“Miss?” Lark needed to draw her attention to him. “Has something overset you?”

“No, thank you, I’ve got this.” From under her cape, she drew out a small pistol and pointed it toward Rook. Lark stared at the short-barreled gun, his thoughts scattering like dry leaves in a breeze. It was a Toby, a muff pistol with silver and gold chasings, expensive like everything about the mark. He’d seen such a gun in a shop on Snow Hill, but never in a lady’s hand.

“Stop, thief!” She leveled the barrel at Rook with a steady hand. “I’ll shoot,” she cried, cocking the firing pin with her thumb.

Lark stepped into her line of sight as an approaching cab pulled up beside him. The rumble of iron wheels on cobbles filled his ears. Her finger squeezed the trigger. A hot searing pain bloomed on his right side, and he pressed a gloved hand to his ribs. He had been right to distrust the lay. The lady was not the mark she appeared to be.

“Oh dear.” The woman, not much more than a girl really, lowered the gun. Lark doubted that she was a day over twenty. Her eyes were the deep brown of Turkish coffee, he thought irrelevantly. “How bad is it?” she asked. “Did the bullet lodge? Are you bleeding much?”

“Hard to tell,” he said. It cost him a sharp twinge to speak. “What were you thinking?”

“I might ask you the same. I meant to shoot the thief, not you.” She tucked the pistol away under her cape, and stepped forward. “Why did you come between us?”

“To be of assistance. I could have …” He couldn’t feel blood, just the burning sensation in his side, the sting of burned powder in his nose, and an unaccountable wobbliness in his legs.

“Chased him? I doubt it. I’m sure he’s disappeared across the Strand by now.” Her eyes had a look of disappointment. Something she wanted had eluded her.

A sudden spurt of anger heated him. He suspected that the heavy purse had been a decoy, and he didn’t know whether he was angrier at her or at Rook. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “What lady fires a pistol in a public street? Even the Peelers don’t shoot a man.”

She shot him a glare. “I came prepared. Never mind. Let me see what’s happened to you.” She stepped right up to him and gently lifted his hand away from his side. He caught the fragrance of her, something fresh and floral.

“You are bleeding,” she said. Her eyes were earnest now, full of concern.

Lark suddenly knew what verse-writing saps meant about drowning in a pair of eyes.

“I know someone who can help.”

“A good tailor, I hope. You’ve likely ruined my favorite coat.”

“A surgeon. Let me take you to him. That’s my cab, you see.”

He had the oddest feeling that he had been played, that she had seen Rook coming and laid a trap. He couldn’t think clearly, and he had no way to reach Rook. He did want a surgeon, and no questions asked. The only sawbones in this neighborhood had shaking hands and wiped them on his filthy linen. Lark should play out the scene. He couldn’t help Rook now. Rook would wonder where he’d got to, but he’d explain later. “Don’t you want your book?”

“The Spanish Brothers?” She bent down, scooped it from the pavement, and piled it back on the shelf. “No. I don’t need it anymore. Will you tell me your name?”

“Lark…in,” he said. “Edward Larkin.” It was the name he planned to use in his new life, if his old life didn’t do him in first.

She nodded. “Vivian Bradish.”

Today, I’ll be giving away two e-Book copies of The Lady and the Thief to two lucky commenters below. Do you have a favorite city? Or a favorite neighborhood in a city? What do you love–the people, the food, the vibe? Winners will be chosen on June 15. Please check back to see if you’ve won.

About the Author.

Kate Moore writes romance set in Regency England or coastal California for readers who want the lift that sweet, triumphant romance gives when clear-headed heroines bring edgy loners into a circle of love and family. Her stories offer the heady rush of finding oneself unexpectedly falling in love and conquering all the odds against happily-ever-after with kindness, courage, and wit. A Golden Heart, Golden Crown, and Book Buyers Best award winner and three-time RITA finalist, Kate lives north of San Francisco with her surfer husband, their yellow Lab, toys for visiting grandkids, and miles of crowded bookshelves.