WELCOME TO THE BLOG, MARINA! :)
Although Marina Myles lives under the sunny skies of Arizona, she would reside in a historic manor house in foggy England if she had her way. Her love of books began as soon as she read her first fairy tale and grew by leaps and bounds when she discovered Nancy Drew/Agatha Christie mysteries and rich, historical romances.Dreaming of becoming a published author, she went on to study creative writing at Southern Methodist University—where she received degrees in Communications and English Literature. During her time in Dallas, she had the unique experience of being a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader.
Now with her loyal Maltese close by, she relishes the hours she gets to escape into worlds of fiery—but not easily attained—love affairs. She’s busy being a wife (to her Italian-born husband) and a mother (to her two beautiful daughters), but she is never too busy to hear from her amazing readers.
Represented by Louise Fury of L. Perkins Agency
Where to Find Marina:
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Beauty and the Beast is a classic tale of loyalty, agony, rectitude, and true love. First published in 1740 under the title, La Belle et la Béte, it has stood the test of time. Why? I think readers are continually fascinated by the hero of the story—a man tortured by a curse he brought upon himself. Should we empathize with his horrible transformation? Or should we be glad he’s gotten his just desserts?
When I sat down to write a twist on this classic fairy tale, I thought it would be fun if this new version asked the question: What if ‘Beauty’ were doomed by her own curse? Here’s what my hero, the deliciously mysterious Lord Draven Winthrop, has to say about it.
Q: Thank you for having me in your manor house today, my lord. It’s a beautiful place. Do you enjoy living here?
Draven: I’m a recluse. At least this God-forsaken house provides me with some solace from the world.
Q: You mean, I should consider myself lucky to get this interview?
Draven: I rarely allow strangers in my house so you should, indeed.
Q: I understand you spent time in an asylum. Is that how you earned the nickname “The Earl of Madness”?
Draven: Unfortunately, yes.
Q: Now that you’ve been released from the asylum, what, exactly, are you hiding away from inside this house?
Draven: (Nose flares as he stands and moves to the window) Come now. I’m no fool. Local gossip has fueled talk of my curse.
Q: Can you provide me with any details of your curse?
Draven: (Glowers as he draws in a breath.) I committed a terrible crime in my youth—for which I paid the ultimate price.
Q: Ultimate price?
Draven: I’m doomed to become a blood-lusting werewolf beneath every full moon.
Q: You’re new wife, the lovely Isabella Farrington, can’t be too happy with your spell of damnation...
Draven: Of course not, but Isabella has her own secrets.
Q: What kinds of secrets?
Draven: When she received a necklace from her Egyptologist father, she decided to wear it for safekeeping. Of course, she claims that she doesn’t believe in the curse, but it seems her suitors before me did. They ran in the other direction.
Q: Still, you married her?
Draven: (Cocks and eyebrow.) I had my own reasons for doing so.
Q: Do you think her amulet is cursed, my lord?
Draven: Yes. Considering my own brush with black magic, I’ve been forced to believe in curses.
Q: Can you explain the hex associated with Lady Winthrop’s necklace?
Draven: The amulet’s stone belonged to an Egyptian Princess who killed her lover and then killed herself. Now it’s prophesized that any female who dons the necklace shall suffer the same, dark fate.
Q: It sounds terrifying for you, Lord Winthrop.
Draven: (Eyes narrowed, he resumes his seat and polishes off a glass of brandy.) The curse is only activated if my wife and I become lovers. And I don’t plan to consummate our marriage.
Q: For what reason, if it’s not too bold to ask?
Draven: Intimacy might lead to the passing of my dark spell to a male heir. (Winthrop scowls as the haze of sunset streams through the window and settles on his face.) Unfortunately, a full moon will rise tonight. I hope I’ll be able to resist the softness of my wife’s skin and the scent of her blood…
~Marina Myles
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Beauty and the Wolf by Marina Myles
Publisher: eKensington (June 6, 2013)
Series: The Cursed Princes, 1
Genre: Paranormal/Historical Romance
A Union of Curses
Isabella Farrington’s marriage was hasty. For all her new husband’s riches, Lord Draven Winthrop is whispered about, avoided, and feared. Yet Isabella is drawn to Draven’s good looks, his strength, the charm he can turn on as easily as she can blink. The impoverished daughter of an Egyptologist, she knows there are rumors about her, too, and the amulet she wears. Nothing more than superstitious babble…
But when Isabella returns to Draven’s remote coastal manor, she senses there is something more at work in the grim gardens of Thorncliff Towers than superstition. Draven is passionate and seductive, but he has a brutal, uncontrolled side too, and a history of secrets. To live in peace she must discover the reasons behind a gypsy curse and a mother’s scorn. Especially when she learns Draven believes his sweet young bride is doomed to a fate even darker than his own…
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Beauty and the Beast by Marina Myles
Excerpt
England, 1818
I am getting married today.
The
realization bubbled to the surface of Lord Draven Winthrop’s liquor-weighted
mind.
At
the gong of the town clock, he shot up in bed and peered at his surroundings.
The décor of the small space was unfamiliar, but the stench of stale ale and
the sound of muffled laughter told him he was in a room over the tavern.
How
had he ended up here—naked?
As
he forced his cloudy vision to focus on the bedside clock, he gave another
start. Ten
A.M. Bloody hell!
In
precisely thirty minutes, he was scheduled to exchange wedding vows with Miss
Isabella
Farrington. That didn’t leave him much time to return to his estate, dress, and
reach St. John’s Abbey on the opposite end of town.
He
stroked a hand over his face and stopped when he felt the rough fabric of a
bandage.
An
image broke through the fog in his head. The wolf coming out of nowhere,
toppling him from his horse, and lunging for him before he could get away. He’d
gone for his revolver just as the wolf sunk its teeth into his hand.
Draven
reached for the bandage and peeled it back. The wounds were gone. Am I seeing
things?
“Is
the roguish Earl of Dunwich having second thoughts about getting married
today?”
The
raven-haired beauty lying beside him propped herself up on one elbow.
He
stared at her, trying to remember how he’d ended up in her bed. He had been on
his
way
to the tavern for a drink. She was the barmaid who’d attended to his wounds; he
remembered that much.
He
also remembered that, despite her beauty, the pleasure in his balls had
evaporated and
he’d
failed to perform for the first time in his life. While the girl’s cat-like
blue eyes had shone with mischief and her creamy breasts had filled his hands
like two, perfect mounds of silk, her lips couldn’t match his fiancée’s plump
glossy mouth. Nor did her nose twitch enchantingly as did Isabella’s when he
attempted a joke.
Good
God.
Was he developing feelings for the woman he was marrying? It was
impossible.
Love was something Draven didn’t believe in.
“Are
you having second thoughts?” she repeated.
His
mouth went dry. Ignoring her question, he climbed out of bed to search for his
clothes.
“If
you’re to marry, m’lord, I hope you won’t lose your lust for fun.” The barmaid
giggled
like a school-girl. “Perhaps you can come back to my room later to finish what
we started last night.”
He
pointed an unsteady finger at her and smiled. “You’re a tarty one. But I do not
intend
to
disgrace my new bride.”
“You
mean to say the Earl of Madness is going to be a respectable man now?” she
asked.
The
mention of his public nickname made Draven cringe. It wasn’t a secret he had
spent
time
in an asylum when he was sixteen years old. Who wouldn’t have come to the edge
of madness after that horrible night in the woods—a night he could barely bring
himself to think of? Being released had been a godsend, but it was a wonder he
still had his wits about him—under the threat of the Gypsy’s curse, that is.
Why
couldn’t he bury the reason for his incarceration along with the rest of his
dark
past?
He
stared at his hand again. Could there be
any truth to the blasted hex?
Despite
his drunken state and the overzealous barmaid, maybe the wolf attack happened.
If
it had—and if his curse came to life beneath this evening’s full moon—what
would he have gotten his new bride into so bloody soon?
Draven
yanked on his clothes and left the tavern room in a hurry. Once he reached his
estate,
he managed to prepare himself for the wedding—though the preparation was done
between rounds of whiskey shots. His late arrival at the abbey garnered him a
barrage of contentious stares, but he couldn’t care less. He faced the sour
expressions of the guests with his shoulders pinned back. After all, he was
Lord Draven Winthrop, infamous rake and nonbeliever in love. His reputation
entitled him to carry on the worst wedding in the world and that was damn near
what was about to take place.
His
gaze wavered to the back of the church. There stood his bride. Draped in an
understated
wedding gown of tiny pearls and lace, Isabella beamed as brightly as the flowers
encircling her head. Draven gulped, and as sunlight fell upon Isabella’s sheer
veil, he saw hope crest in her eyes.
With
her shining auburn hair and fine features, she was a beautiful woman—even
breathtaking.
Why then did she represent a dark cupid about to pierce him with a fatal arrow?
Draven was minutes away from losing his freedom, but that wasn’t what was
bothering him most. Under the threat of his curse, he couldn’t afford to get
too attached to his new wife. It was true that she’d begun to tug at his
heartstrings, but he was marrying her for a specific purpose—and he intended to
keep things to that.
The
first strains of organ music bellowed and Draven’s vision blurred. Isabella
slid a foot
forward
and while she made her way down the aisle, he remembered the wolf bite he’d
suffered last night. Suddenly he felt nauseous.
What
if I transform into a werewolf for the first time tonight?
In
that moment, Draven experienced a new emotion: fear. As Isabella inched closer,
he
knew
this was all wrong—that he was putting her in danger—yet he accepted her hand
when she presented it to him. Turning toward the priest with a knot in his gut,
he heard something about Isabella honoring and obeying him, followed by
something about him taking her for his lawfully wedded wife. Uttering words he
couldn’t be sure were correct, he swiveled to face his bride and groped for her
hands. He lost himself in the warmth of her stare before she tilted her pert
nose upward in anticipation of his kiss. Responding, he lifted her veil and
cupped her small, cameo-shaped face. Then he brought his mouth to her lips. A
tremendous spark ignited within him—and he was scared for the second time that
day.
Disliking
the feeling intensely, Draven forced his heart to freeze into the iceberg it had
always
been. And as he drew away from the kiss, he was left with nothing but cold
insensitivity.
***
Isabella Farrington—now
Lady Draven Winthrop, Countess of Dunwich—had only been
married for seven hours but she was
certain that she’d just made the worst mistake of her life. Jostling inside the
polished coach that bore the Winthrop crest, she lunged forward in an
ungraceful heap when it came to a stop.
Her groom shot her a
callous look. “We have arrived.”
Catching a glimpse of
her new home through the window, Isabella pressed her fingers in
her lap to keep them from shaking.
Draven’s scowl prompted her out of the carriage and dread raced along her spine
as she looked at the imposing structure before her.
Set on a sloping bluff,
the house known as Thorncliff Towers loomed over her like an
enormous, vine-clad fortress. With
its sky-high turrets, repressive stone façade, and arcane courtyard, it
appeared as unwelcoming as Draven had been inside the carriage.
Her husband exited the
coach behind her, a mess of a newly married man. Tugging on the
points of his vest beneath his
great-coat of gold brocade, he indicated to the footman to open the front
doors. Then, ignoring Isabella completely, he careened across the pebbled
driveway in a cloud of port and cigar fumes.
Isabella watched him
reach the portico before she gathered her skirts. As she scurried
through the open doorway, she
nodded to the aged female servant who greeted her. Then, turning her gaze to
the manor’s interior, she gave a shudder. Its décor was the epitome of
melancholia and neglect. Worn carpets covered yards of scuffed parquet flooring
while furniture upholstered in shades of gray filled a vast parlor. An enormous
staircase, flanked by gryphon-topped newel posts, anchored the main hall and
faced an unlit hearth positioned on another wall.
Draven stood beside
Isabella in the foyer. Twilight’s haze slanted through a window and
illuminated his profile. From his
straight, patrician nose to his darkly curled lashes that brushed the rise of
his cheekbones, he looked like he
could be her Prince Charming. But today her boorish groom had destroyed her
dream of living a fairy tale.
Draven had appeared at
the altar thirty minutes late, unrecognizable and completely
foxed. After mucking their vows—who
on earth was Laura?—he had either forgotten or disregarded her one request: a
bridal bouquet of red roses. Following an embarrassing reception during which
he went on to serve cold finger sandwiches and cheap wine, he actually fell
asleep in the carriage on the way to Thorncliff Towers. Mouth agape, he’d
snored like a pig.
Now he gave Isabella an
impatient frown as he gestured her up the stairs. She climbed the
grand staircase in excruciating
silence, highly aware of his hand pressed to the small of her back. Amid walls
that seemed hushed by dark secrets, the contact—and thoughts of the intimacy
soon to come—made her legs quake.
Maybe, she considered,
Draven was still too drunk to mind her lack of experience.
Perhaps
he’ll fall asleep in the middle of our lovemaking.
But when Isabella
turned around, his sharpened stare plunged those hopes into a dark
abyss.
He took the lead once
they reached the fourth story of the house. She continued to follow
him until they arrived at a set of
double doors.
“My bedchamber,” Draven
said without flourish.
She crossed her arms
while he looked as though he preferred to be miles away from here.
From
her.
“Isn’t it traditional
for a groom to come to his bride’s bedchamber on his wedding
night?” She couldn’t hide her disappointment
at his lack of gallantry.
“I sleep best in my own
bed,” he growled. “The sooner you come to know my
preferences, the better off we will
be.”
Isabella didn’t dare
tell him he was more fun when he drank, especially after he had
suggested she try the wine at the
reception for the same reason.
With barely a look in
her direction, he reached for the door handle.
“You have done nothing
but humiliate me today,” she said, biting back a full verbal
assault. After all, Draven was her
only hope for what she desperately needed: financial help for her down-trodden
father. “The least you can do is carry me across the threshold.”
Her husband eyed her
for a moment, his dark eyes boring into her very soul. “Very well,
but it is the last time I shall
carry you anywhere.”
Lifting her off the
ground as if she were the lightest of feathers, he transported her
through the doorway only to plop
her on her feet at once. Then he marched to the window and gazed at the night
sky awash with clouds. “You can change in there,” he said, pointing to his
dressing room without tearing his
stare from the window.
Isabella hurried to the
box-sized room. The faint odor of tobacco mixed with sandalwood
clung to the air. Since she had
refused the help of an abigail, she took her time removing her
wedding gown and securing it on a
hanger in the wardrobe.
Had
Draven noticed that the dress was second-hand and frayed?
She set aside her shame
and pulled on a cream-colored negligee he had supplied and
stole a look in the mirror. She was
a rather plain sight for a bride. With her auburn curls swept off her face in a
simple chignon and her face free of rouge and lip-stain, she had put forth
little
effort this morning. And why not? Her mother, dead a year and
two months now, hadn’t been
there to help—or hug—her as she
prepared to marry a man she hardly knew.
Isabella had been
introduced to Draven at a cousin’s birthday fête six weeks ago and his
unexpected appearance at the
Farringtons’ home in London the next day left her to wonder what a man like him
could want with her. When he began to court her, he claimed that his title
demanded he marry someone. Isabella,
in return, had seen Draven as her last resort.
Isabella’s eyes shifted
to the very object responsible for her social eviction: The cursed
amulet
of Tousret. The trouble began when word of her dark prophecy
spread through London. In no time at all, suitors who’d previously shown her
interest vanished into thin air. Further ruination occurred when she was
released from her governess position.
Brushing her fingertips
over the stone that hung around her neck, she told herself to think
of her father. She was doing all of
this for him.
A noteworthy
archaeologist, Sir Harris Farrington had spent the family’s last half-penny
on a trip to Egypt to find the
amulet. He managed to unearth it, but the necklace wasn’t nearly as valuable as
it would have been if he’d found its counterpart, the bracelet of Amenhotep. To
add to the disaster, Isabella’s father had pushed the limits of the dig by sending
three workers into a deep ravine to search for the bracelet. When the workers
died, the gross mismanagement of the venture sank Harris Farrington’s
reputation.
After that, finding
sponsors for future digs proved impossible.
Isabella ran a finger
along the stone’s thin, silver chain. When her father had given her
the necklace for safe-keeping, he
had begged her never to don it. But she was a skeptic at heart and didn’t
believe in curses. She felt the best way to protect it was to wear it, and now
with the pin money Draven gave her as a wedding gift her father would be able
to return to Egypt and search for Amenhotep’s bracelet. It was an enchanted
piece of jewelry thought to have the power to undo the stone’s prophecy—as well
as restore her father’s professional viability.
“What’s taking so
long?” Draven’s gruff voice penetrated the wall.
“I’ll be out in a
moment!” The mirror bounced back the quiver of Isabella’s voice and the
paleness of her face.
Just
breathe. To calm her nerves, she unraveled her hair from its
tight chignon and
smoothed her freed curls.
“I may fall asleep if
you don’t come to bed!” Draven’s snarl caused her to jump.
Sucking in a breath,
she entered her husband’s suite. As Draven reclined in bed, the
hunger in his obsidian eyes made
her heart skitter. His smooth chest rose and fell beneath an
opened, white shirt while the
lights and shadows bouncing from the hearth enhanced his
hollowed cheekbones. Stepping
closer, Isabella couldn’t help but notice how enticingly his
black, shoulder-length hair
glimmered in the firelight.
At the very least, she
was grateful that Draven was handsome. She had even softened
like a wet leaf during their brief
wedding kiss. If only his dark nature and intimidating scowl
didn’t alarm her so.
He threw back the
bed-sheet. A defined torso rising out of a pair of low-slung breeches
made her avert her eyes.
“Join me,” he
commanded.
She turned away from
him, braced her legs against the side of the mattress, and slid into
bed. After drawing the counterpane beneath
her chin, she stared up at the ceiling. She could hardly believe she was here.
“I must admit that I’m
nervous,” she said. “This will be my first time, well…”
The words hung in the
air as heavily as if someone had used foul language in church.
Draven frowned. “If you
weren’t a virgin, I wouldn’t have married you.”
He rolled closer to her
but when she locked eyes with him, his ravenous stare made her
draw back. In a slow, sultry
motion, Draven tugged the counterpane down and traced her amulet with his
fingertips. His touch on her chest was incredibly hot, as if his entire body
were engulfed in flames. She, in contrast, shuddered icy jolts in her nervous
state.
“Is this the stone that
put gossipmongers in a dither?” he asked.
She nodded and looked
down at the curio. It felt strange to have someone else touch it.
He cocked an eyebrow.
“Do you ever take it off?”
“No.”
“You’re not afraid of
the stone’s prophecy?” Draven looked puzzled.
She shook her head.
He retracted his hand.
“What, exactly, does the legend foretell?”
Staring into his fiery
eyes, she could hardly think. “Well”—she scrambled to gather her
thoughts—“nearly three thousand
years ago, the amulet belonged to a headstrong, Egyptian princess named
Tousret. This princess made Amenhotep, a high priest in her court, one of her
secret lovers. As punishment for her selfishness—and for this priest breaking
his holy vows—the Underworld God saw to it that Princess Tousret was drawn to
Amenhotep in the worst possible way: a fatal attraction as it were. The God’s
dark forces willed Tousret to stab Amenhotep before turning the knife on
herself. Now any female who wears the stone even once is doomed to take the
life of her true love before committing suicide.”
Draven’s eyes widened.
“You are braver than I thought.”
She blushed. It was the
first compliment he’d given her. “The amulet is a part of my
father. He risked his life to find
it.”
Draven fell into
silence before he met her gaze again. “Lucky for you, I don’t believe in
curses.”
The small tremor beneath
his eye told Isabella he was lying.
“Still,” he said, “the
amulet symbolizes too much dark history for my taste. Next time, I
want you to remove it.”
Next
time? She was barely managing this round of intimacy.
Desire darkened
Draven’s eyes and Isabella gulped. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering
hers. She pinched her eyes shut and
folded her hands over her stomach to prepare for his kiss.
He stopped. “There is
no reason to be prim and proper with me. You’re no longer a
governess.”
Isabella’s eyes flew open at his
condescending tone. It took all the restraint she could
muster
to hold her tongue.
Draven
shoved the counterpane to the foot of the bed and studied the outline of her
body.
He
drew her to him. Her breasts pressed against his chest, igniting a crackle of
energy between them. Isabella’s throat caught and in a surreal moment, he
clamped his mouth over hers. When his tongue forced its way past her lips, her
blood moved in wild rushes—and control over her emotions slipped from her
grasp. She closed her eyes in silent ecstasy, surrendering to the deepness of
the kiss and to the excitement it stirred in her.
The
jab of Draven’s knee between her thighs snapped her back to reality. Chiding
herself
for
reacting to him with such passion, she composed herself.
His hand swept over her breasts and
when it descended to the flat plane of her abdomen,
Isabella stiffened. She found it
difficult to breathe under the pressure of his mouth and she had no idea to which
side to tilt her head. As his arousal grew solid against her leg, her pulse
leapt at the foreign feel of it. Rolling on top of her, Draven’s shirt-tails
draped over her negligee and, as he traced her lips with the ease of an expert,
Isabella remembered his previous kisses. She’d known him to be tender, at least
in those moments, so she began to relax a bit. Then he began pawing her.
Reaching down, he pried her knees apart and slipped his hand into the open
space. When he rubbed her core in rough motions, her limbs froze. Her groom was
a devastatingly handsome man but she was only willing to acquiesce to him at
her own speed.
“Forgive me,” she said.
“I’ve heard that creating a child can be a magical experience. It’s
just that—”
She blinked against a
bright light. Shifting her gaze to the window, she saw that a full
moon had emerged through a pair of
parted clouds. As the ivory cast spilled across Draven’s face, he pulled away
from her with eyes that flashed a profound fear. “I must inform you that I have
no intention of fathering any offspring,” he said.
The admission couldn’t
have knocked Isabella more off balance. “I…I don’t understand.”
Draven bolted out of
bed. His entire body began to shake. “I have personal reasons for
not wanting a child. But what you
need to know is that we will use a modern form of prevention.”
She pulled herself to a
sitting position. “You choose this moment, our wedding night, to
inform me of this? Didn’t you think
I should have a say in the matter?”
As the veins on his temples
bulged and pounded, she recoiled against the headboard.
“Something is happening
to me,” he said, spinning away from her. All at once, his shirt
split up the middle of his back and
fell to the floor. Then, with his face hidden from view, he picked up a chair
and hurled it through the window.
Isabella whipped back
the bed-sheet, her hand pressed to her mouth in horror.
What
is happening?
Fearing for her safety, she rushed
inside the dressing room and locked the door. Through
her sobs, she heard a loud cry then
more breaking glass. A minute later, all was quiet.
She grabbed Draven’s
wool coat and draped it over her negligee. Turning the doorknob
with a quaking hand, she forced
herself to peer into the bedchamber. Wind whistled into the room through the
shattered window and the fire in the hearth had all but died out. But Draven
was nowhere to be found.
Seizing the chance to
flee the room, Isabella escaped into the corridor and raced
downstairs. She’d known this
loveless marriage was a bad idea, but now she was truly frightened. Refusing to
stay at Thorncliff Towers a moment longer, she ran for the stables. And with
every step she took, she vowed never to return.
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Thank so much for stopping by today, Marina, I enjoyed your interview with Draven! :D
I've always *loved* Beauty and the Beast. It was my favorite movie as a child, and remains so to this day. Anytime I find a B & B retelling, I'm a very happy girl. :)
What about you--do you love B & B? Do you have a favorite retelling of it? Have you had a chance to read Beauty and the Wolf yet?
Enjoy!
Until Next Time,
*TBQ's Book Palace is a member of both the Amazon and Barnes and Nobles affiliates program. By using the links provided to buy products from either website, I receive a very small percentage of the order. To read my full disclosure on the matter, please see this post!
2 comments :
Beauty and the Beast is my favorite trope. I enjoyed the excerpt and the interview and look forward to reading the book.
jmcgaugh (at) semo (dot) edu
Like Beauty and the Beast and retellings
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