“A tapestry that is simultaneously witty, charming, exhilarating and downright fun." Publishers Weekly, starred review ( Soulless) “This intoxicatingly witty parody will appeal to a wide cross-section of romance, fantasy and steampunk fans.”
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“Carriger’s Parasol Protectorate series beautifully blends together alternate history, steampunk and paranormal romance into stories that are witty, engaging and fun.” They have made appearances on the Mass Market, Manga, Combined Print and eBook, and eBook New York Times Bestseller lists. It would suit her very well to be thought catlike.The Parasol Protectorate books have been translated into over a dozen different languages, won several awards, turned into graphic novels, and been optioned for TV.
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Prosaic, practical little creatures as a general rule. Alexia wondered what he thought of her as-a cat perhaps? Cats were not, in her experience, an animal with much soul.
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Instead of answering her in the affirmative, he stroked her face with his free hand, as though she were an animal that needed soothing. It seemed to have taken almost everything out of him. “That was an apology, was it?” she asked, just to make perfectly certain. It was not an explanation, but Alexia decided she would have to settle for it. “Because I am a foolish old wolf who has been too long in the company of the pack and too little in the company of the rest of the world.” “Clearly.”Īlexia was not one to let the matter drop. “And I find perfect beauty excessively boring, don't you?” He kissed her nose again.Īlexia could not help herself she drew back and gave him the once-over.
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Beautiful countryside, fabulous food.” He kissed her other temple. What does it matter to me how old or how much a spinster you may be? Do you have any idea how old I am, and how long a bachelor?” He kissed her temple. His voice was low and warm against her cheek. Startled, she shied back, then opened her generous mouth, a bit like a fish. Lord Maccon kissed the very tip of her nose. Oh no, she thought, it is happening again. This close, she could smell open fields and dark cold nights all about him. You do realize this, yes?”Īlexia watched him until she went almost cross-eyed. But instead of being a relief, this color was more frightening because no threat masked the hunger there. His eyes had turned back to tawny brown as soon as he touched her-his human eyes. She tried to look away, but it was nigh impossible. She hardly dared breathe, not quite certain if he was actually going to eat her or not. Miss Tarabotti blinked at him from a scarce few inches away. Carefully he brought it down toward her other hand and then trapped both together in one big paw. Lord Maccon reached forward and gently pulled her hand away from her face. Perhaps time spent thinking over the matter made these more apparent?” Which origin is worse in the eyes of London society, do you think?”Īlexia touched her nose and considered the dark tenor of her skin. Alexia had never noticed before how black and thick his eyelashes were. His eyes were almost completely yellow now, with a ring of orange about the edge. Lord Maccon moved closer, slowly, ready to pounce if she decided to bolt. “My father was an Italian did you remember that all of a sudden?”
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Miss Tarabotti backed away and came up short against a large wingback armchair. He moved in a hungry, stalking way, and under the brown of his expertly cut jacket, solid muscle shifted, all coiled energy directed at her. “Is that your real age?” he murmured, seemingly uninterested and still coming toward her. “Perhaps,” Miss Tarabotti offered, hands up before her in a defensive position, “you thought better of it because you realized how ignoble it would be: the Earl of Woolsey and a twenty-six-year-old spinster?” “That,” the earl muttered gruffly, “was not the reason.” I.”Īlexia trailed off, for Lord Maccon had stood up from the tiny couch, which creaked at the loss, and advanced purposefully toward her.
If I did something wrong, you know”-she waggled a hand in the air, even more embarrassed now but bound and determined to get it over with-“with the kissing, you must excuse my ignorance. “I am not very”-she paused, thinking of the scandalous pictures in her father's books-“experienced. She looked down at the primrose rug, because, brave as she was, she could not quite face his yellow eyes. So, of course, being Alexia Tarabotti, she cut straight to the heart of the matter. Yet here before her sat the object of her perturbation, apparently at her verbal mercy. Ivy of all people! She must be desperate. She had even thought to call on Ivy to ask her opinion of his conduct. She had tossed and turned most of the night over his disdainful treatment. It was rare that anyone left the Earl of Woolsey at a loss for words.