Say You’ll Love Me Book Trailer & Some Recommendations

posted in: Ally Broadfield | 2

As you may have noticed from my earlier post, Say You’ll Love Me released on Monday. My dogs recently finished making the book trailer, as they do for all of my books, and asked me to share it.




She may be his favorite mystery…

All of Lady Abigail Hurst’s dreams seem to be coming true when at long last her childhood sweetheart asks for her hand. But when a maid is found dead, and her betrothed is the chief suspect, Abigail begins to wonder just what manner of man she’s marrying…

The Marquess of Longcroft, Edmund Townsend, has always preferred complex mathematical equations to the trappings of society. And love? Love is a non-quantifiable concept. Still, Lady Abigail is his sister’s friend, and he finds himself drawn into the mystery of her affianced… even as he begins to anticipate Lady Abigail’s company with unfathomable pleasure.

Investigating the murder may reveal more than the sordid truth. It may just reveal the love Abigail always wanted… a little too late.

Available here: Amazon    Barnes & Noble    iTunes    Kobo






If you missed it on Monday, don’t forget to enter my fairy tale themed giveaway:



a Rafflecopter giveaway



Now, for your enjoyment, I’d like to share with you three out-of-the-ordinary historical romances that released recently. You’re going to want to add these to your TBR lists.


Duchess Decadence:

A game of chance with love on the line…

Thea Worthington, Duchess of Wynchester divides her time between social engagements and playing her luck against fickle fortune. Yet every gamble is only a bluff—a means to hide from the pain deep within her, and the loss of a babe she never held in her arms. Now Thea’s luck is about to run out. Her estranged husband has returned and seeks a reunion…

Plagued with guilt over what happened to his wife three years ago, the Duke of Wynchester has kept his distance. The duke is resolved to piece his family back together, especially now that he’s discovered his beloved brother—long thought dead—still lives. But Thea’s lovely, porcelain facade is on the verge of cracking…spurred on by the duke’s brother’s secretive, malevolent animosity.

With everything riding on her future, Thea plays a daring game of chance for love and her marriage…and this time, the dice are most certainly rigged.





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She tugged at the edges of her gloves and laced her spine with steel. She had known returning to the duke was not going to be easy.

Wynchester cast a sideways glance. “Are you steady?” “Quite.” She shined her enameled smile. I can do this.

“Tonight,” he said low, “we must show unity—the Worthington family, as one.”

“You’ve made your wishes,” her eyes flashed, “and your priorities, clear.”

“Good,” his response was clipped. His gaze searched hers for an extended breath. He lowered his voice. “If you had spoken to Eustace the way he spoke to you, I would have answered in the same way.”

Her enameled smile turned brittle. “You are very talented at lecture.”

“At the very least,” anger flashed across his features, “you have acknowledged my talent for something.”

“Many things.” She put up her gloved fingers one by one. “Set-downs, cuts direct, efficient marshalling of your sycophants…”

He frowned. Then, his anger melted away into an ironic smirk. “At least I can coerce someone to listen to direction.”

She squinted. “I am not a sycophant.”

“No.” He made a leg—a brief bow that mocked more than it paid tribute. “My non-sycophant, duchess, I ask of you a boon.”

Despite herself she nodded.

“Be good, Thea Marie.” His eyes held no command— just uncertain apprehension. “Please.”

Please was not something one heard often from a Worthington. Her anger transformed into another, just as visceral response: challenge. She decided she’d like very much to hear him say please again. Her gaze traveled over his face and then followed the line of his jacket to his breeches.

His finely fitted breeches.

Yes. Another please would be more than acceptable.

“Ah, Wyn.” She reached up and cupped the hard angle of his ever-so-perfectly shaved cheek. “I will behave…” she made her voice low and husky and leaned forward, “if that is what you really wish.”

Wynchester’s eyes grew entirely black. She sent him a warm smile, and then turned. As she walked away toward the solace promised by the Furies, she felt his gaze on her back with every step.

She’d always had a penchant to notice little things. Like the way Wynchester’s eyes grew dark when surprise cut through his armor. Odd such perception should quell her anger and save her tonight. When she was small, it had been her downfall.

Grandmother, there are small clouds trapped in the diamonds on your bracelet. Is that why you have to sell it? There’d been clouds in her grandmother’s eyes, too, as she responded. Silly child. Sit down.

Since then, she’d kept most of her insights to herself.

Her gaze flicked to the far corner and she noticed Eustace’s smile. It enveloped his cheeks and wrinkled his forehead, but his eyes remained largely unaffected, like the eyes of someone far away. Those eyes turned on her and a chill passed through her veins.

She held his gaze for a moment, sending her own silent message.

I will protect Wynchester at all cost.

Eustace gave her a mocking bow.


One Forbidden Night

OFK_1600Catherine Linwood is amongst the favored of Tudor Queen Mary–until her physician father dies mysteriously. She’s distraught, shunned and desperate for answers. Catherine’s only ally is Sir Brandon FitzAlan…who is willing to risk his life to protect hers. While the handsome stranger’s courage and wit soon capture her heart, his true allegiance and purpose is uncertain.
Brand is well used to the lies and shadows of court. Yet nothing prepares him for his sizzling attraction to innocent Catherine, or the deadly plot she is tangled in, for her father took a secret to his grave that could tear Catholic England apart. With one chance at salvation, Brand and Catherine begin a cross-country journey that reveals the shocking truth…and a burning passion that could save or destroy them both.


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Glancing up from carefully removing the queen’s shoes, Catherine almost shivered at the truly odd expression on Mary’s face. Hard. Calculating. And yet sorrowful too.
“Yes, madam?”
“All wrongs will be made right once our son is born. We ask you to remember that. And know as an obedient and faithful subject, we shall always hold you fondly in our heart.”
“How could I not be?” she said carefully, confused at the queen’s intense words. “The prince will make England whole again. We’ll all rejoice.”
Just for a moment, Mary looked away, one hand clutching the strand of polished rosary beads about her neck. Then she turned back, smiling.
“Indeed. And once we are recovered, we will hold a feast, and you shall be introduced to some fine gentleman. Past time you were married…unless our Lord is now calling you to a different purpose?”
Catherine paused in her gentle rubbing of the queen’s swollen right foot. “No, madam. I still hope to marry. Very much. A special man, handsome, learned and charming would be most agreeable.”
The queen chuckled, a hint of color brightening her usually pale cheeks and livening her brown eyes. “A list! My word. Should he be a lord? A knight? A physician?”
“Well, I…”
“Let me pass! Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”
Catherine jumped at the hoarse cry, but Mary remained very still, calmly watching her personal page’s stumbling approach.
“Yes, boy?”
“Majesty, I bring grave news.”
“Then do not tarry, tell me.”
“It’s Doctor Linwood, Majesty. He’s—”
“What?” said Catherine sharply, all manners forgotten as icy fright crept down her spine and turned her hands clammy. Had her father caught the fever he’d gone to tend? Fallen from his horse?
The page inclined his head, his eyes somber. “Mistress, I am grieved to report Doctor Linwood has passed away.”
Catherine stared uncomprehendingly. No. Passed away meant dead. And her father was hale, hearty, and shortly to be dining with her. Turbot, roasted beef, marzipan fruit, and a good wine to celebrate his homecoming.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, pushing the words out past the driest tongue in Christendom. “I received a message earlier, he returns this evening. You must be mistaken.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “No, mistress. I’m so sorry. It was his weak heart. And ill humors from traveling in the rain.”
“Papa never travels in the rain. And he certainly didn’t have a weak heart!”
“Are you sure? I—”
“Thank you,” snapped Queen Mary. “That will be all.”
The page immediately bowed low and hurried away, but Catherine barely noticed. Shocking, crushing cold enveloped her, making her body shake and vision gray.
Sounds erupted. An awful high, keening wail like a soul condemned to purgatory. Women shouting and heavy boots crossing the stone floor. Chairs scraping and steel flashing. Clamping her hands over her ears, she fought to escape the noise, awkwardly falling from her stool and huddling in a ball.

The Madness of Lord Westfall

THE MADNESS OF LORD WESTFALL smallPierce Langdon, Viscount Westfall is mad. Everyone knows it. He fell from a tree when he was a boy and woke to hear strange voices. When the voices grow stronger as he grows older, his family commits him to Bedlam. But what he hears are the thoughts of those around him—a gift to be used in service to the Order of the M.U.S.E. Until he falls again…this time for a totally unsuitable woman.
Lady Nora Claremont  hides her heartbreak behind the facade of a carefree courtesan. Viscount Westfall is the most confusing man she’s ever met. He seems to know exactly what she wants…and what she’s thinking.
Which is a dangerous thing, because what Nora wants is Pierce.
And what she’s thinking could expose her as a traitor to the crown…


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Lord Westfall hadn’t kissed her full on the mouth. Then, when she looked up into his steely gray eyes, she realized he’d done exactly as he’d intended.

He wanted to give her a kiss, not take one from her. It was a fine distinction, but it meant something to Nora.

She hadn’t met a man like that in years.

Not since Lewis…

She tried to shove the memory of her dead husband away but, wavering and indistinct, he appeared at the edge of her vision. If she looked in that direction, she knew from sad experience that he’d only vanish. She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t be tempted.

Westfall took it as an invitation and covered her mouth with his warm lips.

Let Lewis’s ghost watch if he liked. It would serve him right for leaving her.

She knew it wasn’t logical to blame her husband for being killed in the king’s service. Most widows honored the memory of their fallen heroes. If anyone mentioned Lewis to her, she would claim she was proud of his sacrifice.

The more often a lie was repeated, the more easily it dropped from one’s lips.

It had been more than five years, and she was still furious with him for leaving her. She’d given up everything for him—her home, her family, her place in the world. She’d lavished all she was on him. How could he make her go on breathing without him?

It was petty to feel that way. Lewis hadn’t meant to die. But her feelings on the subject resisted all efforts to mold them into something society would accept.

To top it off, she also felt guilty about being angry with Lewis. So she shoved those emotions into a tight little part of her heart. Then she prodded at her shadowy husband until he disappeared from the edge of her mind.

Lord Westfall filled up the available space. He made her breath hitch and her chest tighten.

Nora was a connoisseur of the kiss. An expert. Yet this man’s halting attempts at kissing plucked at a deep place inside her. His mouth on hers was gentle. Sweet.

He gave her a long kiss of unhurried adoration.

That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t adore me. It’s the mystique of the courtesan that draws men in. I know what they are and what they want. I’m safe in a way respectable women aren’t.

Then Westfall’s kiss suddenly turned decidedly unsafe. His tongue swept in with full assurance that she wanted him to, and surprisingly enough, she did. It was as if he sensed what she needed before she had the chance to know herself.

Bruise me. I don’t care. I don’t deserve easy.

He brutalized her mouth for a moment with just enough raw aggression to make a drumbeat begin between her thighs. She ached over her emptiness.

Then his kiss turned suddenly soft. Unbearably gentle. Tears pressed the backs of her eyes, but she kept them squeezed shut.

Little by little, the wall she’d erected around herself began to crumble.

He was seeking the deep Nora, the one she kept hidden. Looking for a way inside her secret self, a place she never allowed anyone to roam.

If this is truly the man’s first kiss, I’m lost.




Follow Ally Broadfield:

Ally lives in Texas and is convinced her house is shrinking, possibly because she shares it with three kids, five dogs, a cat, a rabbit, and several reptiles. Oh, and her husband. She likes to curse in Russian and spends most of her time letting dogs in and out of the house and shuttling kids around. She writes historical romance set in Regency England and Imperial Russia. She loves to hear from readers and you can find her on her website, Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter, though she makes no claims of using any of them properly.

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