The Quick Guide to Purchasing My Work

Shorter Work

"Crimean Fairy Tale," an erotic romance set during the Crimean War. About 7000 words, available for Kindle and for Smashwords and for Nook.

"The Magnificent Threesome," a 6000 word short story set in a loosely historical American West, is available for Kindle and for Nook.

"Under Her Uniform," a Spice Brief - tie-in to The Moonlight Mistress (electronic only): (2012)
Kindle
Nook
Harlequin e-book (Adobe editions)
Google e-book from Powell's
Mills and Boon e-book (UK)
The Sony Bookstore
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Kelsey Larsen.

Erotic Exploits (electronic only):
Seven Tales of Speculative Lesbian Erotica by Victoria Janssen. Includes: "Free Falling"; "Camera"; "Wire," a sequel to "Camera"; "Toy," a sequel to "Wire"; "The Princess on the Rock"; "Place, Park, Scene, Dark"; and "Mo'o and the Woman."
Kindle
Nook
Smashwords

Download my first published erotic story, "Water Music," in PDF format. Also available for Kindle and for Nook.

NOVELS

The Duke and The Pirate Queen: (2010)
Kindle
Amazon
Barnes & Noble
Indiebound
Powell’s
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Phoebe Stewart.

The Moonlight Mistress: (2009)
Kindle
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
IndieBound
Powell's
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Patsy Kelland.
FlipKart in India.
Italian translation.
Italian translation for Kindle

The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover: (2008)
Kindle
Amazon.com
Barnes & Noble
Indiebound
Powell’s
Audiobook at Audible.com, read by Helen Stern.
Russian translation.
French translation.
German translation.
Download "Camille, Henri, Maxime," a free outtake in PDF format (please note this outtake is explicit).

Teaser from The Duke & The Pirate Queen

Today, I give you a tiny teaser from The Duke & the Pirate Queen, which is coming out in December, 2010.

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Maxime heard the ship's bell ring two quarter hours before the cabin's door opened again. The cabin girl, Norris, poked her head in, then slid around the door and shut it behind her, reaching for a basket on the deck. When she saw Maxime, she stopped and looked at him incredulously.

"Is this your rope?" Maxime asked, mildly.

Her mouth opened, then closed.

"You can have it back, if you like. Though I'm afraid you'll have to untie it from me yourself."

Norris clutched the basket to her flat chest. "I...the captain borrowed it? My line?"

"She did."

"You'll have to ask her about untying it, then." Norris grinned and slipped out again, this time with the basket.

Maxime cursed, but without much vigor. He returned to trying to lift his feet. The deck braces to which he was hitched showed no hint of movement and the sturdy decking didn't even creak, no matter how hard he pulled. The knots on his wrists, he'd quickly learned, drew tighter if he struggled, and there was no accessible end for him to attack with his teeth.

"Being kidnapped," he said, "is much more dull than I would have expected." Perhaps things would improve once the ravishing began. If it began. He was beginning to have his doubts.

#

Another teaser, featuring the book's heroine, Imena Leung.

"Water Music" free read!

I've put a new, downloadable free read up on my website. It's my first published story from December 2000, lesbian erotica titled "Water Music."

You can download it here.

When I participated in a reading for this anthology, at Bluestockings in New York City, not only did I meet other writers whom I still correspond with today, I was also privileged to see my story interpreted in American Sign Language. The interpreter told me she'd spent the day practicing the stories in a coffee shop, hoping desperately all the while that no one sitting nearby could understand what she was saying.

Teaser from The Duke & The Pirate Queen

Today, a teaser from The Duke & The Pirate Queen.

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Captain Imena Leung did her best to appear bored. The royal cutter's first officer examined the papers she had handed over to the inspecting officer.

Chetri stood at her side, chewing mastic, hands clasped behind his back. He looked casual but was ready, she knew, to draw his knife at a moment's notice. Several of her crew handled inconsequential tasks within easy distance; she'd been careful to order most of the younger sailors to stay below on the lower cargo deck. At the first sign of trouble, the cutter's first officer and his boat crew would become hostages. If worst came to worst, she might also claim diplomatic immunity; anything to gain time.

She might also accidentally knock the officer down, for looking at her as if he'd like to pay for her services. A knife pressed to his genitals might give him more respect for women.

The officer peeled off the second sheet and returned it to her. Imena slid the page into its case. "As you can see, we're in the employ of the Duke Maxime."

"You were scheduled to remain in port for another week. Why did you depart early? Without a full cargo?"

He wasn't looking at her face, but at her bosom, despite its being bound into a bodice and concealed beneath a loose shirt. She was careful to show no hint of emotion as she said, "Personal matters."

"Personal matters that caused you to recall your crew from shore leave and vanish from the docks in the wee hours of the morning?"

"I wanted to catch the tide," she said blandly. "Are we finished here?"

"I'm curious as to the nature of these personal matters." He glanced up at her face, now, and smiled. He was a young man with bright teeth, symmetrical features, and glossy hair. He wouldn't be used to being refused.

"You will remain curious, then," she said. "Chetri, will you escort the officer to his boat? I need to speak with Bonnevie." She turned toward the wheelhouse.

"Oh, come now," the officer said, looking annoyed. "You could at least offer me a drink."

Imena frowned. "That's not required by law."

The officer's back stiffened. "I wasn't aware you particularly cared for laws, Captain Leung."

"I have no idea what you mean." She felt Chetri ease closer to her.

"Everyone knows why His Grace hired you. You're a pirate."

Chetri's blade whistled from its sheath, and he spat the mastic gum at the man's feet. Imena blocked his arm without breaking the officer's gaze. She heard movement, then settling, as the sailors realized there would be no fighting. "I was a privateer, in the service of my government."

"It's all the same to us. We've been keeping an eye on you."

"Have you." She pushed on Chetri's arm until it lowered and he stepped back to sheathe his blade. "Unless you are accusing me of piracy now, you will leave my ship."

#

The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover Excerpt - Animals

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Perhaps an hour later, Camille heard hooves approaching, a horse at a gallop. She ran to the doorway, bridle in one hand and cleaning cloth in the other, determined to see. From a distance it was clear there was no danger; Henri rode Rhubarb, bareback, jumping him over a small bush here and some plant clippings there, letting the stallion burn off some of his energy. Camille found herself smiling. His seat was not just secure, but a thing of beauty.
He saw her from across the paddock and cantered up to the barn door, grinning hugely. He had no idea, Camille knew, how lovely his smile was; he had no trace of vanity. After knowing so many preening courtiers, she felt this was one of his most attractive traits.

"Your Grace," he said. "He's glorious! Would you like to ride him? He's well-mannered." He flushed. "Oh. He's really yours, you can ride him whenever you wish."

Camille hung the bridle and cloth on a hook, and picked up the man's hat Sylvie had given her as a disguise. With that and her loose jacket, from a distance she ought to be safe from curious eyes. She now knew she'd hear another horse's approach, and any guards would come in a group. After quickly covering her hair and pulling on her gloves, she walked into the yard. The mares and gelding were far across the pasture, too far to go to just now. She would visit with them later. Now, she would ride. Her heart beat faster with excitement. "Give me a hand up."
Henri gingerly held out one hand and extended his foot, to give her a step. He blushed furiously. Camille hoisted her habit's skirt in one hand and in a few moments was astride a horse, for the first time in four years.

She gloried in the minute shifts of muscle beneath her, in the hum of living power along the stallion's skin. The aroma of horse rose up around her. Laughing aloud, she clasped her arms firmly around Henri's slender waist. She could feel his muscles shifting, too. His smell reminded her of mulled wine. "Glorious!" she agreed.

#

c. Victoria Janssen, 2009

Buy The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom & Their Lover from Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

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Taige Crenshaw
Ashley Ladd
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Mari Carr
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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Explosions

Moonlight Mistress is from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, three soldiers are causing a distraction at one site while a more secret operation happens at another. Note there's been a change to this excerpt to protect a plot detail.

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It would have been better to have grenades thrown from all directions, but it hadn't been practical with only the three of them. Meyer had insisted that one of them be armed with a more accurate and long-range weapon, much as the infantry were protected by artillery. Of them all, he was the best shot with a rifle, though he wasn't as good as Southey or anywhere near as good as Mason, back at the regiment. Hailey reminded himself that accuracy like Mason's or even Southey's wasn't required here. All Meyer had to do was plug someone until he couldn't attack any more. Even the worst shot in the regiment could usually manage that.

Meyer interrupted his thoughts. "Be careful. Both of you."

Daglish said, "I for one don't intend to be killed. Hailey, you ready?"

"Yes," he said.

After that it was the usual sort of running and dodging and flinging oneself into cover, except the sniper gear was uncomfortable and one had to do everything more carefully because of the grenades; and normally, Hailey wouldn't be given grenades, even jam tins, because his job was to carry messages. In front of Meyer, he'd pretended he didn't mind, but in truth the grenades made his nervous enough that his palms were sweating inside his gloves.

Daglish had taken platoons out on raids, so he knew what he was about. When they reached the stand of trees that was their midpoint, he settled in among the leaf litter and silently began to lay out his grenades in an arc around his feet. Hailey did the same, then slipped the lit pipe from its loop on his webbing. He could still see a red-orange glow within the pipe's bowl. He stirred up the embers just a bit with a stick and murmured, "Ready."

Daglish rose slowly, stretching his arm and rotating it to make sure his sleeves--uniform beneath, sniper tunic above--wouldn't catch and land a grenade on top of them. He scooped up a tin in each gloved hand and held them out to Hailey, who held the pipe bowl to the fuses until they caught. Together, they counted, then Daglish threw, strong clean arcs that nearly made Hailey whistle in admiration.

Daglish had easily cleared the tall fence. Hailey counted another second, then two explosions ripped the air, one after the other. Sound rushed in, and he realized he hadn't been breathing, but he was already lighting the next grenade, holding the fuse steady in the bowl of the pipe until sparks crackled, slowly eating their way up the fuse, towards the tight-packed gun cotton. The explosion would fling free the nails and other bits of metal rubbish they'd packed into the tin. The sharp odor of gunpowder singed his nostrils, or was it smoke from the laboratory compound? He held the grenade up to Daglish without looking at him, shook burning ash off his leather glove, then began to light the next fuse.

Daglish had thrown perhaps half the grenades before Hailey heard the gate rattle open and rifle shots popping. "Run?" he asked. He risked a glance; three guards had ventured out, staying close to the fence.

"Two more," Daglish said, heaving the grenade he held. It landed on a roof, and the resulting explosion resulted in a tower of flame as dry wood caught fire. He hissed with satisfaction as the flame leapt to another roof, which caught fire with a roar.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Order from Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Secondary Characters

Moonlight Mistress is out NOW from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Hailey is carrying a message to Meyer and Daglish, who are on leave in Paris. Note there's been a change to this excerpt to protect a plot detail.

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The road to Paris was in awful shape. Hailey clung desperately to the zouave piloting the motorbike and tried to ignore the fragments of cold mud whipping his cheek and splatting on his goggles. Periodically, the rear wheel would skid in a puddle and the bike would be knocked askew, sometimes careening far enough to one side that the zouave's boot would scrape through mud; he would shout in French, right the machine with a disconcerting jerk, and off they would speed again, weaving in and out of various ambulances, lorries, and the occasional horse-drawn wagon. Aside from trains, Hailey had never traveled so fast in his life, especially not balanced half on a seat and half on a saddlebag.

Traffic grew heavier as they approached Paris, necessitating that the zouave slow down. Hailey fumbled the envelope from his jacket pocket with gloved hands and checked the hotel's address once again. Inside was a scribbled note from Captain Ashby, dated a mere two days before, with details of their irregular mission for the French. It definitely beat being back with the battalion, laying a railway in the rain.

The zouave left him at the Hotel Lutetia with a cheery salute and more incomprehensible attempts at English, then rattled off, his scarlet trousers flapping in the wind. Hailey found his handkerchief and wiped most of the mud off his face before swathing it in his muffler, hunching his shoulders against the cold, and trudging across the hotel's cobblestoned courtyard.

Inside wasn't much warmer than outside. The concierge was also wrapped in a muffler, and the end of his nose looked distinctly red. He at least spoke some English. Hailey was able to make herself understood once he unbuttoned his coat to display his uniform, and pointed out the names he wanted in the register.

Meyer came down to meet him, closely followed by Daglish. They looked clean and warm and well-fed, and he was startled by a stab of jealousy. They in turn looked startled to see him. Hailey dug out the letter, bundled in with the other papers he'd brought. "Got some important news."

Meyer and Daglish exchanged a glance. Meyer said, "You look chilled to the bone. Come on up to our room."

Once climbing the staircase, it became evident to Hailey that the two officers were clean and he was not. It wasn't the mud so much as the fact that he hadn't had so much as a wash since he'd left Sister Daglish, and before that, it had been weeks since he'd had a real bath. He'd been hoping for one on leave, when he could get some privacy; maybe there'd be a chance of one before they had to leave Paris. Though there might not be time. He'd likely need to scrape the dirt off himself with a knife. Twice.

The door of their small room had barely closed behind them when Meyer asked, "What is it?"

Hailey couldn't stop himself from smiling. "Ashby's alive!"
He wasn't prepared for Meyer's knees to go.

Daglish grabbed Meyer before he could hit the floor and eased him onto the bed, where he sat staring at Hailey as if he were about to weep, but grinning, too. Daglish looked at the neatly printed list Hailey held and said, puzzled, "Is that my sister's handwriting?"

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Order from Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

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Taige Crenshaw
Shelli Stevens
Shelley Munro
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Jody Wallace
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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Arrivals

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Lucilla is briefly and unexpectedly reunited with her lover.

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After Hailey was safe and cared for, Lucilla walked down the muddy path back to her quarters in one of the slapdash rear huts. She was dizzy from lack of sleep and reliving, in a near trance, the moments when Ashby had shifted from one form to the other. If only she could tell Pascal. For a few wild moments, she considered ways of sending him a letter--through the French command, perhaps, or to his relatives in Le Havre--before laughing at herself. He would not be pleased to hear from her, she was sure. He no doubt had quite a few pretty mademoiselles trying to catch his eye.

No, that was unfair; there was work to be done, and she felt sure the French army had not overlooked his usefulness. It made her feel a bit better to think of him occupied with engineering problems. She could even consider him with nostalgia.
He would love knowing that werewolves truly existed. She could encode that information in a letter, perhaps; it would not be like sending a letter simply because she wanted to do so. He would wish to discuss her discovery with her, and they could--no. She really had nothing to do with all this. She was neither an officer in the army or a person with any scientific standing that an army would recognize.

...Oh, she would give anything right now for a cup of tea, heavily dosed with Irish whiskey.

When she pushed open the door to her hut and saw the light on, Pascal standing there beside her bed, at first she thought she was dreaming. In one stride, he held her by the arms. A moment later, his mouth swept down upon hers. His mustache tickled her nose. That felt real. He drew back, looked down at her as if to confirm his welcome, then kissed her again before lifting her off the dirt floor and holding her tightly against him.

Lucilla stroked her hands up and down his back. Was he thinner than he'd been? She'd never before seen him in his uniform. The pale blue didn't really suit him, nor did the loose cut of his jacket. Of course, her own uniform added at least ten years to her, and included a silly hat and cape besides, so she supposed she couldn't criticize.

"Lucilla," he said. He kissed her cheek and set her on her feet. "I thought I would have to search you out."

"How did you--"

He shrugged. "I am a spy. Not in the field," he added, hastily. "I persuaded them that would be unwise. I have been working with data that others provide."

"But, here--

"I missed you," he said, with devastating simplicity. He cupped her cheek in his palm. "I had hoped you might miss me, as well."
Exhaustion and shock shattered over Lucilla's head like a shell exploding. Before she could burst into tears, she buried her face against Pascal's chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on. "Yes," she said, muffled against his uniform.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Pre-order on Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Weaponry

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. This scene depicts the first combat of World War One, as experienced by one of the secondary characters, Lieutenant Gabriel Meyer, who until this moment directed the regimental band.

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Gabriel slid from tree to tree until he reached the low wall bordering the cemetery. He stepped over, then wriggled to the road on his belly. The terrain dropped towards the canal just in front of him, and he could see. Smoke scummed the air. He smelled acrid burnt powder. Gray-uniformed men crowded the width of the bridge, firing as they advanced, struggling to climb past fallen comrades who blocked their way to the bank. He tried to count, to estimate their numbers, but kept losing track at the middle of the bridge. He couldn't see how far the crowd of Germans stretched on the other bank. Two companies? Three? A cluster of willows on the opposite bank blocked his view. Where were Ashby and Daglish? Were they safe? He sighed in relief when he spotted Daglish's stocky torso on the right flank. He looked to be under adequate cover, training a pair of binoculars at the opposite bank.

The men were doing well. He estimated twelve to fifteen rounds a minute, at the least, and considerably more accurate with their aim than their German opponents, even given that the Germans were exposed and moving. He crushed the thought that he, too, might have to shoot soon. He'd never killed a man. He'd never intended to. He only hoped he could manage it if the need arose.
As Gabriel watched, Cawley and Lyton each fired a final round from their advance placement, then abandoned the wagon's inadequate cover and retreated for the barricades. Cawley went down, his body jerking with the impact of two, then three bullets.

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, but the picture was the same when he opened them, Cawley sprawled amid the lush grass and wildflowers like a painting, bright and unreal. He didn't move again. Lyton didn't see, and a moment later was dragged behind a heap of sofas and thrust into a trench.

...Someone touched his elbow, and he rolled, pistol ready. Ashby halted his movement with a hand on his wrist, and Gabriel let his breath free in a rush. Trust Ashby to move like a ghost. Ashby said, loudly enough to be heard over the rifles, "You're to hold this position."

Ashby's usually insouciant expression had tightened, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his face caked with dust and sweat beneath the brim of his cap. A red line streaked across his neck, the blood already crusting. He'd come within inches of being killed already. His throat too tight for words, Gabriel could only nod.
Ashby grinned at him and gripped the back of his neck for a moment, a comforting squeeze that conveyed fresh energy. Then he scrambled down the road. Gabriel worked his way back to the cemetery wall and relayed their orders, then returned to his vantage point. A couple of Germans had fought free of the chaos at the foot of the bridge and were advancing at a run, bayonets leveled. Gabriel couldn't hear individual shots amid the percussive storm of them, but the two interlopers jerked to a halt and landed short of Cawley's body. Southey and Mason, he realized, peering up at the spire. Sure enough, he could just see the tip of a rifle protruding from the narrow arras.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Pre-order on Amazon.com.

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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Emotion

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice.

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Crispin hadn't felt any fear at all as he'd led his platoon into battle, only a strange feeling of intense concentration and heightened senses. Now that the worst of the fighting was over, though, chance had left him stranded far from his company, his twisted ankle swelling inside his boot, each beat of his pulse throbbing up his whole leg. He lay surrounded by mud and metal fragments, corpses and incomplete corpses, and the shattered skeletons of trees. That was a very different thing, and he'd had to work to keep from panicking.

Meyer had arrived after about an hour, and now Crispin couldn't stop shaking. He'd been holding together rather well when he lay in the mud alone, waiting for death. A blanket of acceptance had eventually settled over his mind: someone else would take care of his men, and either another shell would land on his head and blow him to bits, or it wouldn't, and he would worry about survival later. Dying that way would be quick. If his legs were blown off, or an arm, he still had his pistol. He could always shoot himself before he bled to death. He thought God would forgive him suicide, if he were dying already and in terrible pain. He needn't fear the worst, being ripped open by a bayonet, as no German would be insane enough to venture out of his trench during this kind of assault. Being trapped in a shell hole hadn't been nearly as bad as he'd feared.

Now, though, Meyer was with him, and if he was killed, Meyer would likely be killed, too. Crispin carefully unhooked his pistol from its lanyard, reholstered it, and buttoned the flap. His hands were shaking too badly for it to be any good. "Why did you come after me? Where's your platoon?" He heard the sound of a train rushing overhead and pressed himself deeper into the mud, his arms protecting his face. The shell exploded some distance behind them. Smoke from previous impacts drifted by, like ghosts. Crispin shuddered.

Meyer lifted his head. His spectacles were spattered with mud, his mouth wry. "I thought it was over. My boys headed back. I came to look for you."

Probably, he'd gone looking for Crispin's corpse. "I can take care of myself," Crispin growled, though it wasn't entirely true. No one could take care of themselves in the midst of a battle. You couldn't protect yourself from a shell, not really. Crispin wasn't sure why he was so angry. He'd never been happier in his life, at least for a few moments, than when Meyer had slipped and skidded his way down into this godforsaken hole. Perhaps it was that he'd been ready to die, finally calm about it, and then Meyer's arrival had reminded him that he'd left something unfinished, and he would regret it for eternity.

"God damn it," he said. Another shell whistled and he ducked again. That one had been closer. He stole a glance at Meyer, and unexpectedly met his steady blue gaze, or what he could see of it through the mud. His heart stopped. Meyer looked down, fumbled off his filthy specs with an equally filthy hand, and slid them carefully into the breast pocket of his uniform tunic. His slight squint when he looked at Crispin now bore a disturbing resemblance to a look of lustful contemplation.

Meyer said, "I'd give a hundred guineas for a hot bath right now."

Crispin's mind presented him with an image of Meyer's naked form ensconced in a porcelain bath, one leg flung over the side. He closed his eyes. That made it worse. He opened them again and reflected wryly that at least it was better than contemplating his own dismemberment. "I'd give two hundred guineas for any bath," he said. "There's a puddle down at the bottom of this hole."

"Let me guess. You found it with your boots."

"My arse," Crispin said. "Good thing my coat took most of the damp." He rested his cheek on his arm and tried to slow down his breathing. Sometimes that helped. This time it helped for two breaths, until a Screaming Minnie tore the air, then another, then a whole host of them, smaller shells ripping their way towards inevitable destruction. Terror washed him like cold rain, then a vast numbness that he dove into gladly.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

Pre-order on Amazon.com.

More excerpts.

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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Danger

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Noel Ashby has recently been captured by an enemy.

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A woman crouched before him, naked, her long blond hair trailing to the chalky stone floor. She had a round face with large eyes, a delicate snub nose, and a cherubic pink mouth. "Wake up," she said, slapping his cheek. The blow was not gentle.

"Christ, my head hurts." The inside of his skull felt as if it had been burned, and the inside of his nose as well.

"If you vomit again, I will make you wish you had never been born," the woman said.

Again? Noel tensed his arm and realized he could move. He drew up his legs to guard his belly and cradled his throbbing head in his palms. "F*cking hell."

"Yes," she said, as if agreeing. She slid something across the floor to him. He smelled water. He squinted open one eye. The water was in a shallow bowl. The woman's lip curled. "We are animals to him," she said.

We? Pain tore through him as he moved, snaring her arm and bringing it close to his face. She flinched, then froze as he pressed his nose to her skin and inhaled, deeply, the unmistakable scent of werewolf. His smile hurt.

She snatched back her arm. "You have nothing to smile about, Englishman."

Noel grinned. He had to squint, but he grinned. "I'm extremely pleased to meet you."

"Soon, you will not be. Are you going to drink?"

"Are you going to help me up?"

The room was small, perhaps ten feet square, and looked as if it had been carved out of the rock, then poorly whitewashed with lime. It smelled overwhelmingly of carbolic. A dim bulb hung from a wire strung across the low ceiling; he followed the wire with his eyes and noticed it exited through a hole next to a reinforced wooden door, with its locks on the outside, of course.

Noel felt fractionally better after drinking his fill, though he would have been happy for a handful of aspirin as well. He sat on the floor across the narrow cell from the woman, his back to cool white stone, and contemplated changing form, to see if that would help with the pain. The woman was watching him, narrowly, then her eyes flicked towards the door, and again to a corner near the ceiling. His eyes following hers, he saw a port in the door, currently closed, and what looked like another opening higher up. They were watched.

Well, it could hardly be a surprise to their observer, or observers, that he would be curious about his situation. "Where are we?" Her accent was either Belgian or Dutch, with the former more likely. He didn't feel as if a long enough time had passed for him to reach Holland.

"I don't know." She rested her crossed arms on her updrawn knees, eying him narrowly through a thick swathe of blond hair. Her scent tantalized him. He wanted to crawl across the floor and lay his head in her lap until he felt better, then he wanted to nuzzle her all over. It was too bad he couldn't. First, he didn't plan to let his wolf self dictate his actions. Second, she did not look as if she would be amenable to him getting any closer, though he didn't sense any dislike of him personally. Perhaps she felt a generalized wariness. In the circumstances, it was completely warranted. She was imprisoned, and not only imprisoned, but trapped with a man whom she'd never before met.

"How long have you been here?"

"Several days. I was wise and did not fight as you did."

"I find that difficult to believe."

"This is not the first time for me." The tightness in her voice made the hair raise on his arms; had he been in wolf form, his hackles would have flared. If she was afraid, her fear was well-submerged beneath several layers of rage.

"Will you enlighten me on what's to happen to us?"

Her lip rose in a snarl, then she visibly calmed herself to a level of quivering tension that Noel recognized from soldiers who'd been in action about an hour past good judgment "We are experimental subjects."

"Whose experiments?"

"Kauz," she said, almost spitting the name.

"German? Austrian?"

"German."

"Doubly my enemy, then." Noel rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen his cramped muscles. He would need not only to protect himself and the woman, but also prevent the German from gaining any information useful to the war effort.

The woman eyed him without blinking for a long time. At last, she said, "We could rip out each other's throats. It would not take so very long."

Noel caught her gaze with his own. "I'm Noel Ashby," he said. "What's your name?"

"Tanneken Claes," she said. "You are pretending there is a better way."

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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Moonlight Mistress excerpt - Dialogue

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. This scene takes place as Crispin's regiment is heading to France, in the early days of World War One.



#

Crispin mentally shook himself and joined a group of the men lounging on the deck, some of them smoking in tense silence, some talking with nervous energy, some alternating both activities. ... Crispin was surprised when Hailey sat beside him, pulling out a sock to darn; they sat together in silence, listening to the men talk.

Evans said, "My girl and I are getting married as soon as I get home." He unbuttoned his tunic collar to display an impossibly delicate gold ring on a chain. "If I get killed, someone send this back to her, will you?"

"Do we inherit the girl?" Lincoln chaffed. "Cover your tender ears, Hailey."

Hailey looked up. "You got a girl, Lincoln?"

Lincoln leered. "Any time I want."

"What about what they want?"

General laughter erupted.

Mason said, "I've got my eye on a nice plump French girl."

"Which one?"

"Any one that'll have me!" More laughter.

"Make sure she can cook, lad," said Lyton, scrubbing at his gray mustache. "My wife can make roast turnips taste like the food of heaven."

Cawley countered, "My sister's bread is so light it could float away, but she couldn't keep a husband."

"He's the fool, then," said Lyton. "Hearth and home, lad, hearth and home."

"Who wants a home when your wife's screeching at you all the day long?"

"I like screeching," Lincoln said, raising a significant eyebrow.

Southey sneered. "For Christ's sake, man, give it a rest. Your mum wouldn't like to hear that spilling out of her baby boy's mouth."

"Not here, is she? War's no place for a woman."

"We'll be sure and get a nice husky fellow to mop your manly brow in hospital, then. Me, I'll settle for a pretty young thing with soft hands."

Woods said, "You'd let a lady nurse you? She'd see--you know--"

More laughter. Hailey turned to Crispin. "You got a sister, you said?" he asked, quietly.

Surprised, Crispin answered, "Yes. Always set me right when I needed it. You?"

"Yes," Hailey admitted. "Doesn't like me much."

Crispin said, "Lucilla's so much older, it's like...she's my friend."

"Not Agnes. She's stuck home caring for Mum while I--" Hailey didn't finish.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover Excerpt - Kickass Heroines

This excerpt comes from The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover.

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"Give us the horses or you die," the lead rider demanded. He was a big man, heavily bearded and, like all three of the brigands, wearing a mask bound over his eyes and nose.

"No!" the Duchess said.

Henri grinned in reflexive agreement--never the horses!--then his belly went cold with horror. He should have spoken up immediately, said they had money. Except then the brigands might have demanded the money and the horses. Did that matter? There were other horses in the world, much as he loved them. There was only one Duchess.

The lead brigand rode towards the Duchess, blade held out. She backed Guirlande with consummate skill, keeping a distance between them. The brigand said, "Now, lady, we could use some nice mounts like these."

Henri opened his mouth. She cast him a warning glance, and he closed it. "I'm sure you could," she said. "However, they are mine."

"You wouldn't like to die in the road, would you?"

"You can't shoot us both," she said. "The survivor would make quite a lot of trouble for you."

The archer said, "Want to bet there'd be a survivor?"

Henri thought furiously. He could rear Tulipe and perhaps distract their horses, allowing the Duchess to run, but that would expose his horse's belly to both swords and arrow, and they might cut her down as she ran. How could he use his knife? Kaspar's singletail would have been of more use right now. He sidled Tulipe left, then right, trying to draw their attention away from the Duchess. Maybe that would be enough, a distraction so she and Guirlande could run.

"Don't move!" someone shouted.

Henri froze. Casting his eyes to the trees, he recognized Lilas first, the small figure on her back second. Sylvie held a long-barreled pistol in each hand. The brigands were easily in range of her shot, and he did not doubt she could hit anything at which she aimed.

The first rider wheeled his horse to face her, while the second took over menacing the Duchess. "There are three of us, if you haven't noticed," he called.

A shot ripped the air. Henri quickly controlled Tulipe. Guirlande barely flinched. The archer had lost his bow, and was clutching at his shoulder. Sylvie dropped her spent pistol, seized another from her belt, and shouted, "Two of you. I would go now, if you wish to live."

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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Moonlight Mistress Excerpt - Worldbuilding

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. This scene takes place during World War One while Gabriel Meyer, a British soldier, is searching an abandoned village for German soldiers.

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Both of the house's doors were shut tight, but not locked. Gabriel and Woods and Evans entered at the front door, Gabriel's pulse pounding like a drum, his boot heels even louder on the polished wooden floors. The house was deserted, the red brocade curtains drawn; though it bore signs of being abandoned in haste, a scattered pile of papers here and a fallen knickknack there. The air felt stale and close, as if it had been vacant for decades. He startled when Evans said, "Sir? Are we allowed to provision here?"

The inhabitants had fled, so there was no asking them for permission. It was also true that there'd been quite a bit of freely given hospitality on the long march. And his men were not only hungry, but working far too hard to go without food. He nodded. "After we search, we'll see what we can find."

He mounted the stairs, leading the two boys, and investigated a workroom for sewing, a dusty parlor, and a messy bedroom. The large bed bore distinctive stains on its sheets, and the smell of sex and sweat lingered like a memory in the air. Woods lifted the bedskirts with his rifle barrel, then poked the coverlet that lay in a heap on the floor. Evans peered into the wardrobe and behind the curtains, Enfield at the ready. Nothing but dust.

Gabriel scooped up a discarded doll with impassive porcelain face and laid it gently on the unmade trundle bed. Its human hair brushed disconcertingly against his bare wrist, and he yanked his hand away, feeling as if he'd touched a corpse. If he'd married Jemima, he might have had a child with a doll; what would he have done, forced to flee his home, with his family in tow? He tried to think of the real family that lived here, but could only focus on the empty bed.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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Moonlight Mistress excerpt - Emotional Fight Scene

Moonlight Mistress is out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice. In this scene, Pascal and Lucilla have recently been reunited.

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Pascal tucked the blanket back over her shoulder, from where it had fallen. "You didn't want me to see you again," he said. His voice gave nothing away, and his chin blocked her view of his facial expression, dimly lit by electric light shining in the window.

"You're in my bed now, aren't you?"

"I was already here. You could hardly push me out into the night."

Lucilla sighed. "I could have. I do want you."

"If I happen to be present. You would not have sought me out."

He had no right to be angry at her. She'd made no promises. Lucilla sat up and shoved at his chest with her hand. "I didn't think you wanted to see me again!"

Pascal captured her hand in his and kissed it, hard enough that she felt the pressure of his teeth through his lips. "I did not lie to you, at Le Havre! Why did you doubt me?"

His tone was angry, but his expression pained. Lucilla found she couldn't meet his gaze. It wouldn't be wise to tell him that she'd given up trusting men's words long ago. Clearly, he felt he should be an exception. So far, he had proven himself to be an exception. Everything he had done since his arrival spoke of a deeper attachment than Lucilla had dared imagine or hope for. "I'm sorry," she said, and she was. She hadn't meant to hurt him. She'd only worried about being hurt herself.

Pascal still held her hand. He kissed it again, gently this time, his mustache tickling between her knuckles. "If I misread your interest, I'm sorry," he said. "I will leave if you ask me to do so. Even now."

Lucilla snorted and squeezed his fingers. "You don't want to stride nobly out into the night. I appreciate that you offered, though."

"I would do it!" he protested.

"I don't want you to go," she said, took back her hand, and lay down again, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his bare skin. "I was afraid," she muttered. "Afraid I would never see you again."


#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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Excerpt from The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover - Humor

Excerpt from The Duchess, Her Maid, The Groom and Their Lover- Humor



#

Two days later, the last of the horses was slung aboard Captain Leung's ship. Watching from the dock, Henri bounced on his toes. He'd never been to sea before, though the coast was less than a day's journey from the ducal seat, if one wasn't picky about where one took ship.

Sylvie jabbed him with her elbow. "Be still. You are older than five."

Henri grinned at her. "We're going to sea!"

"We will likely drown," she said, dourly. "Or be eaten by sharks. Or the tiny fish, who attack in flocks and shred the flesh from your bones."

"Those are only in rivers, Captain Leung said."

"Rivers run into the sea, and fish can swim along them," Sylvie said. "You seem insufferably pleased with yourself. It could wear on a person's patience. There might be an accident. Do you swim?"

Henri rose to his toes again, this time to try and see how Lilas fared as her hooves met the deck. He glanced over his shoulder at Sylvie. "She turned you down, didn't she? Captain Leung?"

"Not all of us are so lucky as you," she growled, and stomped away.

Kaspar strolled to Henri's side. "And she gets seasick as well," he said. "Won't this be a pleasant trip?"

#

c. Victoria Janssen, 2009

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Moonlight Mistress excerpt - Setting

My offering is from Moonlight Mistress, out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice.

Today's excerpt is all about the setting. It's the beginning of World War One, and Lucilla has joined a new hospital as a nurse. Ths hospital is being housed in a building that used to be a casino.



#

The first days were all hard work, such hard work that Lucilla fell into her bed each night already nearly asleep from exhaustion. Bedsteads had arrived, mattresses had accidentally gone to Rouen and had to be retrieved by lorry. Twenty roulette wheels had to be carried up to the attics and stacked atop card tables covered in green baize. Tanks of nitrous oxide were procured, but some of the tanks of oxygen needed to mix with it had leaked and arrived empty, and had to be replaced. Only boys and men over fifty years of age were available to work as orderlies, so Lucilla and even some of the doctors pitched in to carry immense piles of bedding and cases of bandages up the casino's grand staircases and into the wards. The official inspectors arrived, and declared one of the rooms they'd chosen for surgeries to be unacceptable, so another had to be prepared, all its carpeting ripped out and every surface scrubbed and painted.

At last, however, Lucilla gazed around a makeshift ward in satisfaction. The variously colored brocaded coverlets and lap rugs, all donations, made the room look cheerful. She'd successfully directed her cadre of six French volunteers in making the beds and laying out the requisite kit in the lockers beside: pajamas, flannel, towel and soap, and a bag to hold the patient's uniform once it had been labeled and laundered out in the paved courtyard. She doubted this perfection would last beyond the first influx of wounded, but she let her volunteers enjoy their success while they could, and for a break requested they stock the entertainment cabinet at the far end of the ward. Lucilla set the mademoiselles free to roam the casino's every room and closet to obtain sufficient decks of cards and cups of dice, secretly gleeful that such a male bastion was now the domain of women.

She looked out the glass doors at a crew of local workers struggling with electrical wiring, for the temporary buildings that would house the X-Ray department and laboratories. The white-haired man who directed them looked ready to strangle his helpers. Several more aged Frenchmen, aided by a crew of youngsters, were building paths out of boards, so trolleys could be wheeled directly from the hospital. One of those small buildings would be Lucilla's own kingdom, where she would perform double duty compounding disinfectant and irrigation solutions. The extra work would be worth it for the attendant privacy.

Matron swept through the elaborately carved doorway, studying the watch she wore clipped to her uniform cape. "Daglish, I'm afraid I'll have to move you over to the east wing. It's not quite ready, and I've heard we might be receiving casualties sooner than we'd expected."

So it begins, Lucilla thought. "Yes, Matron. Someone will look after the mademoiselles?"

"I'll send Sister Inkson."

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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Excerpt: The Duke and the Pirate Queen

I don't normally post excerpts from works in progress, but I decided it wasn't fair that only the male protagonist appeared in my previous sample from The Duke and the Pirate Queen.

#

A few minutes later, Imena hailed a pony-cab and gave Sanji's address. She leaned back in the padded seat and closed her eyes, forcing herself to replace Maxime's image in her mind with Sanji's. It was more difficult than she'd thought. She'd seen Sanji's body dozens of times, Maxime's rarely, but she had recent sense memory of Maxime's heavy muscularity and the scent and texture of his hair and skin. Remembering how his hands had felt on her body made her belly melt. If only he was not the duke. If only.

Sanji's home adjoined his chandler's shop. For once, his two young sons were not playing in the grassy back garden where Sanji kept a milch-goat; with a twinge, she remembered this was their week to visit with their aunt who lived inland. She had been looking forward to playing with the boys. Imena went into the shop, saw Sanji's assistant minding the counter, and ducked outside again.

She found Sanji in his workshop, mounting a compass into a new casing crafted from slender strips of varicolored woods. She leaned against the open doorway for a time, watching him work. He was a tallish man, as dark a brown as Chetri, with narrow stooped shoulders and lush black hair he wore in a messy tail down his back. Wide, thick black eyebrows gave his eyes a severe look at odds with his mild personality. Imena found him soothing. His hands at work were as gentle as his hands would be on her skin.

She waited until he'd set aside the compass before clearing her throat. Sanji looked up and smiled. "Imena. I heard Seaflower was in."

"Yes." She swallowed. She opened her mouth to ask if he could spare an evening for her, but instead said, "Sanji, I'm not sure I can see you any more."

His welcoming expression changed to mild dismay. "That's unfortunate for me, but...have you met someone else?"

"Yes," she said. She might as well admit the truth. Just because she couldn't have Maxime didn't mean he wasn't there, in her thoughts, seemingly inside her very skin. "I'm very fond of you, Sanji," she admitted. "You and the boys, too. But--"

"I understand," he said. He rose from his stool and took her hand, kissing her fingers. "I must confess, I've been wanting to, well, marry. Give my sons a new mother. And I wasn't sure what you would say."

A few weeks ago, she might have said yes. "They need someone who will be here with them," she said. "You and I, we're good together, but...." She took his hand in hers and drew it to her mouth, placing a kiss in his palm. "You need someone who will be here always. Don't you? You just haven't said so."

"Yes, that was my thought as well," Sanji said, his cheeks flushing. He caressed her face. "Will you stay for the evening meal, at least?"

"I can't," she said. "I need to find Chetri. A business matter." She paused, and slipped her hand into her jacket pocket, withdrawing a small canvas bag. "I brought shark's teeth, for the boys. Remind them the teeth are sharp."

"I will," he said. When he took the bag from her, their fingers did not touch.

Throat tight, she nodded. She said, "There is a pearl in there, for you. The purple-black such as you liked so well in Roxanne's earrings."

"Thank you," Sanji said. "I'll think of you when I wear it." He slipped the bag into his trouser pocket. He added, "You're always welcome in my home, you know. For whatever reason."

"And you are always welcome on Seaflower," she said. She took a deep breath. "Goodbye, Sanji."

"Fair sailing, Imena," he said, and kissed her gently. They share a long, close embrace of farewell.

#

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Moonlight Mistress excerpt - the opening

This is the opening section of Moonlight Mistress, out December 2009 from Harlequin Spice.

#

There were no trains to Strasbourg.

The hand lettered sign on the station wall might be wrong, or something might have changed. Lucilla Daglish clutched her single carpetbag more closely to her skirts, to more efficiently protect her scientific glassware from the anxious crowd, but also for reassurance. People jostled against her on all sides, all of them speaking in high-pitched, anxious tones that blurred into a babble conveying nothing but fear. Two different babies wailed, and a larger child screeched between gulping sobs. A fat man, reeking of stale pipe smoke, elbowed her sharply in the kidney as he pushed his way behind her.

Mentally, Lucilla cursed herself as she tried to explain her problem to the ticket agent. Had the man in the booth needed to know about titration or some other element of practicing chemistry, she could have explained to him at great length. However, her more basic conversational German was lacking. Perhaps she had misunderstood his meaning, or he had misunderstood hers. Perhaps her fear had led her to misspeak.

Summoning different German vocabulary, she phrased her question again. She was an Englishwoman. She wished to travel to Paris via Strasbourg. She had a ticket. Here was her ticket. Here were her papers, proving her nationality.

No, it was the Gnädige Frau who did not understand. There were no trains to Strasbourg. There were no trains at all. Germany had declared war on Russia. There would be no trains until further orders were received.

"I am not at war!" Lucilla exclaimed, in English, knowing the agent would not understand her frustrated outpourings. "Why can I not travel out of this country? Surely you have no use for me here?"

Read more at my website.

#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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Moonlight Mistress excerpt - First Meeting with the Villain

In this scene, the two werewolves Tanneken and Ashby meet their captor, Herr Kauz, for the first time (Tanneken has met him before the novel begins, but this is the reader's introduction to him). When describing Herr Kauz, I call him a traditional Evil Scientist.

#

Tanneken woke in a cage, together with Ashby. Crouched next to her, both of them still naked, he looked more alert than she felt, probably because his larger form lent him more resistance to Kauz' sedative gas. A hot electric light illuminated them alone, throwing the rest of the room into deepest shadow. Just at the edge of the shadow, Kauz sat on a plain wooden chair, rolling a rattan cane between his palms.

Her urge to snarl stopped before it reached her throat, as fear slammed into her unexpected and vicious as a blow. She had thought she'd forgotten, crushed her memories, but his unexpected appearance, her helpless at his will, was too much like it had been before, and her carefully built defenses crumbled.

Ashby laid a hand on the middle of her back, spreading his fingers wide over her spine. The touch was hotter than the light, tingling out to the ends of her fingers and toes. She sat up quickly, throwing off his hand, and summoned her most arrogant stare to aim at the old man outside the cage.

"Cowardly son of pox-ridden incest," she said. "Come closer, and I will give you all that you deserve."

Ashby said nothing. She could sense him near her, tension singing through his limbs. When she glanced at him, he settled back onto his heels, his hands loose at his sides rather than concealing his genitals. He smiled. "Like what you see, Herr Kauz?"

Kauz used his cane to lever himself from the chair, then stalked a step closer, then another. Tanneken willed herself not to cringe away. Suddenly, he whipped the cane against the bars with a mighty rattling clang.


#

c. Victoria Janssen 2009

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