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Viscount Overboard: Ladies Least Likely Book 1 by Misty Urban is a Book Series Starter Event pick #historicalromance #romance #bookseries #giveaway



Title: Viscount Overboard: Ladies Least Likely Book 1

 

Author: Misty Urban

 

Genre: Historical romance

 

Book Blurb:

 

When the war-scarred Viscount Penrydd washes up in 1799 Newport minus his memory, Gwenllian ap Ewyas decides not to tell him he owns, and threatened to sell, the property she’s made a refuge for her and other lost souls.

 

Gwen found healing from her haunted past by making St. Sefin’s into a sanctuary for the hurt and abandoned, and she’ll do anything to preserve the place—including lie to the English lord who owns it until she can win him to her cause. But making Penrydd her stableboy is a dangerous game, especially when he’s a target for an outside menace moving into Newport. Even more unsettling for Gwen, under the scars and arrogance is a man she can admire and possibly love. But as shadows from both their pasts appear at St. Sefin’s, Gwen risks losing her livelihood, her home, and her heart when Penrydd learns just how far she’s gone to deceive him.

 

Excerpt:

 

When it came, the hoarse whisper from the bed nearly made Gwen shriek and drop her mending.

 

“Where the devil am I?”

 

Gwen melted into a puddle of relief. She’d been fearing what she must say to his people if Penrydd died. They’d have every reason to think she’d wanted it.

 

“This is St. Sefin’s.” Gwen held her breath. Dovey sat up and put her knitting aside. She held still as a mouse.

 

“Who are you?”

 

His voice was a low rasp. Gwen passed him a wooden cup filled with water from their own well, clear and safe to drink. He tried to raise his right hand, groaned, and let it fall.

 

“God’s teeth. Every part of me hurts. What happened?”

 

Her fingertips tingled as she touched him. Odd. She slid her hand behind his neck and brought the cup to his lips. The man was weak as a newborn lamb, yet she still felt a thrill of terror course through her.

 

She presumed it was terror, at least. Any moment now, he’d recognize her.

 

His eyes were a reddish brown, like hazelnuts. The outer corners slanted upward, giving him a faintly devilish look. His nose was straight, very aristocratic, and his lower lip was full and almost womanly. What obliterated any impression of softness was the jut of his chin and the straight, bold jaw, creasing as a muscle clenched.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“Gwenllian ap Ewyas.” Her voice scratched from her throat. It stung that he couldn’t recall her from mere days ago, but she had to keep the upper hand.

 

“And who am I?” he asked.

 

Her breath stopped. “Beg pardon?”

 

His brows met. “I don’t know where I am. I can’t say why I feel I’ve been trampled by a bull. I don’t know who you are.” He looked up at the ceiling, at the empty room around them, then focused on Dovey. “I don’t know who you are.” He closed his eyes briefly. “And I can’t remember my own name.”

 

This was unexpected. Gwen rushed to help him. “You’re Pen—ow!” She sucked in a breath as Dovey’s knitting needle sank into her side. Poking her stays, not her skin, but still.

 

“Pen?” The furrows deepened on his forehead. “It feels right, and yet—like that name doesn’t belong to me.” He met Gwen’s eyes, his expression bewildered. “Why should that be?”

 

“What do you remember?” Dovey asked.

 

He squeezed his eyes shut and thought a long time before answering. “I remember a tree in a meadow. Sunlight. I felt safe there.” He paused. “I see a woman’s face. I want her to smile at me—is she my mother? I see a tall ship riding at anchor. A naval vessel.” He opened his eyes and stared at Gwen, the blank look giving way to panic. “That’s it. Everything else is wiped clean. My life—gone.”

 

“You did take a rather fierce blow to the head,” Gwen said. “I’ve heard that can disorient for a while.”

 

“Gwen, dearie.” Dovey’s fingers clamped around her wrist. “Let’s give our patient a moment, shall we? Mayhap he’ll remember something more.” She dragged Gwen out of the wooden hall of the infirmary into the room next door, the old buttery which they still used for storage.

 

“He doesn’t remember who he is!” Dovey hissed.

 

“I know!” Gwen clapped a hand to her mouth, pushing back a mad giggle. She had heard tales of people who couldn’t recall events after an accident had injured them. There was a farmer in Langstone who had fought in the American colonies and then returned home unable to recall a single incident from the war.

 

“We can use this,” Gwen said. “We can make him see how people need us, and perhaps he won’t toss us out after all. We need only explain—”

 

“Or we tell him nothing,” Dovey said.

 

Gwen frowned. “You mean, let him see for himself what we do here?”

 

“I mean,” Dovey said, “we tell him nothing about him. Let him remember on his own time who he is, and what he meant to do with us.”

 

Gwen gasped. “You want us to lie?” Her stomach turned over, sending an acidic bite up her gullet.

 

Dovey’s face wore the innocence of an angel. “Lie about what? I’ve never seen this man before. I don’t know him from Adam.”

 

“I can’t deceive him. Dovey—I won’t be able to keep up a pretense.” This wasn’t a little white lie to Cerys that there was not in fact a rat in the cellar or that the man leading a calf to the butcher’s was taking his pet for a stroll.

 

“My darling, darling dear.” Dovey gripped Gwen’s wrists. “Listen to me. He needs our help. It may take him a day or two to recover his memory. And when he does—he’ll understand what we do here. He’ll realize what he owes us, and if he’s a gentleman, he’ll pay that debt.” She squeezed Gwen’s hands until the blood left them. “All you have to do is not tell him who he is.”

 

Gwen stared into her friend’s eyes. She understood. Gwen could walk away from St. Sefin’s. She could strap her traveling harp to her back and wrap her few bits of clothing in the shawl at her waist and she could go anywhere. But Dovey had a child to think about, and Dovey couldn’t go just anywhere. Not every town welcomed a face that wasn’t the same color as all the rest.

 

Gwen swallowed and waited until her dinner was back where it was supposed to be. “Just tell him nothing,” she said.

 

Dovey nodded and loosened her grip. “Let him remember on his own. It won’t hurt him.”

 

“It won’t hurt him,” Gwen repeated.

 

Dovey squeezed her hands, gently this time. “That’s my dear girl.” She walked back into the infirmary, and Gwen followed.

 

Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub):

 

 

 

 

 

 


What makes your featured book a must-read?

 

A delightful riff on the Overboard films, this riveting historical romance boasts a lush setting, vivid and compelling characters, simmering romance along with many adventures, and the touching themes of healing, redemption, found family, and finding one’s place in the world.

 

Giveaway –

 

Enter to win a $40 Amazon gift card:

 

 

Open Internationally.


Runs January 9 – January 21, 2024.


Winner will be drawn on January 22, 2024.

 


Author Biography:

 

Misty Urban fell in love with stories at an early age and has spent her life among books as a teacher, scholar, editor, writer, and bookseller. Her favorite stories take you new places, teach you new things, and end with a win. She especially likes romances about unconventional heroines who defy the odds and the unexpected heroes who woo them, so that’s mostly what she writes. When she puts down the book she likes to take long walks, drag her family to new places, or hang out around water, dreaming up new stories.

 

Social Media Links:

 

2 Comments


andreadrake1
andreadrake1
Jan 14

I like both but prefer standalones.

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N. N. Light
N. N. Light
Jan 09

Thank you, Misty, for sharing your book in our Book Series Starter Bookish Event!

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