Stormy Nights Reviewing & Bloggin': Miss Felicity's Dilemma Book Blast & Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

ALL SHE WANTS IS HER OWN HOME

Miss Felicity Chambers is the new teacher of piano and deportment at Miss Manville’s Academy for Superior Girls. There is no reason a duke should contact her. There is certainly no reason she should marry his son. But that is evidently what the duke wants. Felicity should be delighted. But the orphaned schoolteacher has long since stopped believing in fairy tales. If only the duke’s son weren’t so compelling…

ALL HE WANTS IS THIS HOME

Lord Flint Bracken knows just what is behind the duke’s command, and it isn’t an attempt to secure a happily-ever-after for his son. The proposal is one of the duke’s schemes. Flint has no choice but to cooperate, though, or he risks more than his home. He risks national security. So court a penniless schoolteacher he must. He should be furious. But Felicity Chambers isn’t at all what he expected. She might very well be what he wants…

Read an Excerpt

It was Miss Felicity Chambers’ considered opinion that more time needed to be spent cleaning beneath beds. She came to this conclusion when the urge to sneeze overtook her as she crouched under the bed of her host, her heart pounding and her eyes squeezed shut.

“You haven’t seen her?” a voice rumbled above her.

“I’ve been looking for you,” answered the sultry tones of a woman.

A very sultry woman. Felicity wished she had the knack for sounding so interesting, rather like she thought a siren might sound when calling sailors to their doom. Sadly, she merely sounded like the new teacher of piano and deportment at Miss Manville's Academy for Superior Girls she was. Well, that she had been before the surprise correspondence from the man who was standing four feet from her twitching nose. Lord Flint Bracken.

Flint, Felicity thought with a scowl. What kind of self-respecting duke named his son after quartz? Shouldn’t his name be Reginald, or Cyril? But then, from the sound of his voice, she doubted very much that he resembled a Cyril of any kind.

“It was my father’s request,” he was saying, sounding bored. “Bring the chit here and tell her of the bequest.”

Felicity almost bumped her head on the underside of the bed. Bequest? Her eyes popped open. What was he talking about?

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