His Irish Eve: A Regency Romance by @ReginaJeffers is a Pot O Gold Event pick #regency #Irish #books
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    • Mar 17, 2021
    • 6 min read

His Irish Eve: A Regency Romance by @ReginaJeffers is a Pot O Gold Event pick #regency #Irish #books



Title: His Irish Eve: A Regency Romance


Author: Regina Jeffers


Genre: Fiction/Historical Fiction; Romance; Regency Romance/Adventure


Book Blurb:


When the Earl of Greenwall demands his only son, ADAM LAWRENCE, Lord Stafford, retrieve the viscount’s by-blow, everything in Lawrence’s life changes. Six years prior, Stafford released his mistress, Cathleen Donnell, from his protection; now, he discovers from Greenwall that Cathleen was with child when she returned to her family. Stafford arrives in Cheshire to discover not only the son of which Greenwall spoke, but also two daughters, as well as a strong-willed woman, in the form of AOIFE KENNICE, who fascinates Stafford from the moment of their first encounter. Set against the backdrop of the early radicalism of the Industrial Revolution and the Peterloo Massacre, a battle begins: A fight Lawrence must win: a fight for a woman worth knowing, his Irish Eve.


Excerpt:


When the woman stepped over Adam’s outstretched leg, he took a closer look at her. He had initially assumed her a farmer’s wife, but after the delectable view of her mud-spattered legs, he certainly hoped the woman belonged to no one. The legs were thin, but muscular, and although he lay on his backside in filthy mud, he envisioned those legs wrapped around his body. His gaze rose higher to her small waist and the soft curve of her hips as the rain plastered the woman’s clothes to her lithe form. Even though he was soaked and cold, blood rushed to Adam’s groin, and a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.


The natural lilt of the girl’s voice brought his attention to her efforts. “Easy now,” she coaxed as she slowed her progress, moving closer to the animal.


“Come on, my pretty. Is minic a rinne bromach gioblach capall cumasach,” she murmured, as she reached for the reins. “You are magnificent,” the girl whispered close to the stallion’s ear, and Adam prayed she might say the same thing of him.


The calming effect the woman had on the skittish animal did not escape Adam’s notice. Taking a hold on the harness, she turned the stallion and led it to where he sat in the murky mess. Although it still came steadily, the intensity of the rain had slackened, but both the woman and Adam moved as if it did not exist. They no longer had a reason to protect themselves from the elements.


Without instructions, the girl led the horse to where Adam. He breathed a harsh sigh as he lifted his weight to his knees.


“Hold him still,” Adam demanded before employing the horse and saddle to pull himself to one leg, avoiding putting his weight on the swollen ankle. Using his upper body, he managed first to stand and then place his injured foot into the stirrup. Using the saddle, he lifted upward. Gritting his teeth, he placed his weight on the injured foot as he swung the other leg over the horse’s back and settled into the seat. “Come.” He extended his hand to the woman. “I will take you up with me.”


* * *


With the rain washing away much of the dirt that once covered her eyes, Aoife now fully saw the man. His wide shoulders tapered to a flat stomach—a muscular back supporting his frame and strong arms and thighs, which bunched as the stranger lifted his weight into the saddle, and for a moment she wondered how it would be to know such a man, a man of strength. Deep in thought, it took several heartbeats before the stranger’s words penetrated Aoife’s conscious mind. When she looked up to see his outstretched hand, she backed away. “I cannot, sir,” she pleaded for his understanding. “We know not each other. Moreover, I am covered in mud. It would ruin your clothes.”


The absurdity of her contention amused him, and the gentleman offered his best seductive smile. “I am Adam Lawrence. If you provide me your name, we will know each other, and as far as my clothes, my valet will wish to burn these when he sees them.”


Aoife found herself staring into steel gray eyes, mesmerizing orbs beneath dark brows. As handsome as the devil, she thought. Just looking at him sent her heart pounding uncontrollably. “You are…you are Lord Stafford?”


A crooked smile indicated the man’s appreciation, but he retracted his outstretched hand. “I realize I hold somewhat of a reputation, but I did not think my fame spread to Cheshire.” He leaned down, crossing his arms over the saddle. “However, I will learn more of this vicious gossip later; for now, I wish to be from the rain, and I wish to tend my ankle. However, as a peer and a gentleman, I cannot leave you to tramp through this prank of nature.” The man gestured to the stream of mud flowing down the road’s center. “You will come with me, my unknown lady of the sludge; my gentleman’s consequence requires I see you safely to your residence.” Again, Lord Stafford pointedly offered Aoife his hand.


“I thought you said your reputation already poor, sir?” she challenged. “I would not wish to contribute to your societal renown.” Aoife watched as his eyes narrowed in disapproval.


“Miss Sludge, you will ride with me of your own free will, or I will take you up without your permission,” he snapped.


Aoife’s chin rose in defiance. “A threat lacks a choice, sir.”


Noticeably frustrated with the logic Aoife threw back at him, the viscount edged the horse forward and caught her upper arm. With a gargantuan effort, he lifted her, first, beside the horse where he took a better hold, and, then, he jerked her to his lap, sitting Aoife decidedly before him before touching the horse’s flanks with his heels.


The man caught her around the waist and sat her upon his right thigh. “Now tell me your name, Miss Sludge, or would you prefer my endearments.” Lord Stafford whispered close to Aoife’s ear, permitting his lips to brush across her lobe.


She sputtered from the viscount’s forwardness, but she managed to sit tall, very prim and proper before answering, “Aoife Kennice,” she said waspishly.


Apparently amused, the future earl only half listened. “Pardon me,” he said huskily. With his forefinger, he turned her chin in his direction.


“Did the mud affect your hearing, my lord?” Aoife answered with a smirk. “My name is spelled A-O-I-F-E. It is Irish for ‘Eve’ or for ‘Life.’ It is pronounced ‘Ee-Fa.’ My surname is Kennice, which means ‘Beautiful.’”


The viscount’s smile widened, and Aoife thought if he smiled at every woman as such, he must possess a sheik’s harem. “Beautiful life. I like that much better than Miss Sludge.” Lord Stafford pulled her closer, where her left shoulder lined his chest’s muscular wall and her hips rested above his manhood. “I am Adam, and you may be my Irish Eve.”


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What makes your featured book a must-read?


The hero of this tale was first introduced to my readers in my JAFF (Jane Austen Fan Fiction) tale, The Phantom of Pemberley, which will be rereleased on March 19, having gotten my rights to the tale back from my former publisher. Adam Lawrence soon became a fan favorite, showing up in various books as a simple “walk-through” character or playing a minor role. My readers enjoyed finding him in those books, sort of like “Where’s Waldo.” Eventually, they begged for a book featuring “his” story. I took Adam’s ending from The Phantom of Pemberley and brought him forward six years—six years for him to mature and realize what was important in his life. Six years for him to come face-to-face with his choices and decisions.



Enter to win an e-book bundle of all 23 books featured in the Pot O Gold Bookish Event:


Open Internationally.


Runs March 11 – March 21, 2021.


Winner will be drawn on March 22, 2021.



Author Biography:


Regina Jeffers, an award-winning author of historical cozy mysteries, Austenesque sequels and retellings, as well as Regency era romances, has worn many hats over her lifetime: daughter, student, military brat, wife, mother, grandmother, teacher, tax preparer, journalist, choreographer, Broadway dancer, theatre director, history buff, grant writer, media literacy consultant, and author. Living outside of Charlotte, NC, Jeffers writes novels that take the ordinary and adds a bit of mayhem, while mastering tension in her own life with a bit of gardening and the exuberance of her “grand joys.”


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