Book Three of The Burgundy Club

The story of Tarquin Compton, London's most feared dandy, and Celia Seaton, a governess whose life he ruined with one careless quip. Find out what happens when they meet by chance in the middle of nowhere ...

Being kidnapped teaches Miss Celia Seaton a few things about life


Never disrobe in front of a gentleman ... unless his request comes at gunpoint.


If, when lost on the moors, you encounter Tarquin Compton, the leader of London society who ruined your marriage prospects, deny any previous acquaintance.


If offered an opportunity to get back at Mr. Compton, the bigger the lie, the better. A faux engagement should do nicely.


Not all knowledge is found between the covers of a book. But an improper book may further your education in ways you never guessed.

And while an erotic novel may be entertaining, 
the real thing is even better





“Take off your clothes.”

Celia’s mouth fell open. “Why?” she managed to articulate. Stupid question perhaps, but nothing had indicated lascivious intentions during the two or three hours since her kidnapper had picked her up in the lane, tied her up, and driven her off to this obscure moorland cottage. He’d handled her with insulting indifference.

“I most certainly will not,” she said, gathering courage.

She backed away from him, rubbing her wrists, still sore from the bonds he’d removed. Her head hit the sloping roof. “Ow!”

“Do it or I’ll have to do it for you.” The man sounded more bored than threatening. He reached under his laborer’s smock and metal glinted in the dim light. “And I’ll shoot you first.” The words lacked any trace of the rustic burr which, along with the smock, had fooled her into believing him a local farmer when he offered her a lift in his cart. “Get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

Definitely not from Yorkshire. His accents carried a hint of something far more exotic that matched his olive complexion and suggested an origin or sojourn in foreign parts. Coming from foreign parts herself, Celia would normally have been interested in conversing with him. But she hesitated to bandy words with an armed man, especially one whose pistol aimed straight at her heart. In the tiny attic, she couldn’t believe he’d miss. Raising trembling hands to the buttons of her pelisse, she summoned her most ferocious scowl, with the hope of making herself repulsive.

At first it seemed her grimace had the opposite of the desired effect. His eyes held a hungry gleam as they fixed on her bosom.



Regency Sex Ed.

My thoughts on how these hot historical heroes learned to please.


"Neville scores big with this mix of hilarity, mystery, and passion." Publishers Weekly