Title: The Black Sheep and The Rotten Apple:
Author: K.A. Merikan
Publisher: Acerbi&Villani ltd.
Release Date: 7th of February 2017
Heat Level: 4 - Lots of Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 140,000 words
Genre: Romance, Thriller/Suspense, Historical - 18th Century Cornwall, Highwayman, Kidnapping, Forbidden love, Violence
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RELEASE DATE: 7th February 2017
If you want to see our inspiration photos for this book, check out the ‘Black Sheep and the Rotten Apple’ Pinterest board:
- a signed paperback of The Black Sheep and the Rotten Apple + a selection of Cornish treats (main prize - for one person)
- 3 ebooks of choice from our backlist + a surprise treat from Cornwall (will go to 3 more people)
LINKS TO ALL POSTS:
02/01 THE QUIZ02/03 Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words
02/06 We Three Queens
02/07 Boy Meets Boy Reviews
02/08 Prism Book Alliance
02/09 The Novel Approach
02/09 Joyfully Jay
02/10 The Zipper Rippers
02/10 The Book Bella
02/11 Divine Magazine
02/12 Bayou Book Junkie
Synopsis
“How does one start a relationship with another man when it is forbidden?”“One needs to decide that the other man is worth dying for.”
Cornwall, 1785
Sir Evan Penhart. Baronet. Highwayman. Scoundrel.
Julian Reece. Writer. Wastrel. Penniless.
No one forces Julian Reece to marry. Not his father, not his brother. No one.
When he is thrust into a carriage heading for London to meet his future bride, his way out comes in the form of an imposing highwayman, riding a horse as black as night. Julian makes a deal with the criminal, but what he doesn’t expect is that despite the title of baronet, the robber turns out to be no gentleman.
Sir Evan Penhart is pushed into crime out of desperation, but the pact with a pretty, young merchant’s son turns out to have disastrous consequences. Not only is Evan left broke, but worse yet, Julian opens up a Pandora’s box of passions that are dark, needy, and too wild to tame. With no way to lock them back in, rash decisions and greedy desire lead to a tide that wrecks everything in its way.
But Julian might actually like all the sinful, carnal passion unleashed on him. How can he admit this though, even to himself, when a taste of the forbidden fruit could have him end up with a noose around his neck? And with highway robbery being a hanging offense and the local constable on their back, Julian could lose Evan before he can decide anything about the nature of his desires.
POSSIBLE SPOILERS:
Themes: highwayman, abduction, ransom, forbidden love, self-discovery, danger, crime,
Genre: Dark romance, historical
Erotic content: Explicit scenes
Length: ~140,000 words (standalone novel)
WARNING: Adult content. Contains violence, distressing scenes, abuse, offensive language, and morally ambiguous protagonists.
Excerpt
The sun was high up in the sky by the time the
desynchronized orchestra left Julian’s skull. There wasn’t enough space to
properly lie down anywhere in the carriage, but he managed to obtain a
comfortable position by resting his legs up the wooden wall while his upper
body occupied one of the benches. He still felt like the filling of an enormous
rattle as the carriage bent in all possible directions on the uneven road
leading away from the coast.
Horace didn’t even make an attempt to hold back his
disapproval, but after delivering several biting comments and a lengthy speech
about duty, he at last leaned against the side of the carriage in the seat
across from Julian and closed his eyes. It was difficult to say whether he was
truly in need of a nap or if it was Julian’s face that he didn’t wish to look
at.
With his headache out of the way yet not quite well enough
to read, Julian opened the curtains in hope of amusing himself with the views,
but so far, he merely got to see the side of a narrow gully—all dirt and grass.
He couldn’t understand why Father was being so implacable
about having his youngest son marry a title. Couldn’t it wait a fortnight so
that Julian could finish that new novel he came up with last night? This one
could truly be the breakthrough Julian had been waiting for, the one that would
make the Reece family known for more than fabric trade.
Inspiration was a moment in time when Julian’s friend Martin
emerged from the darkness of an alley behind the tavern. In that very second he
had not resembled himself but a man made of bronze, dreamlike and yet of
substance, with strong hands that could crush Julian if they wanted. The novel
would start with a similar encounter somewhere in the narrow back alleys, just
off the Colosseum. Haunted by the ghost of an ancient gladiator, the
protagonist would be believed to be slowly descending into madness, when in
reality his awareness of the supernatural would become a vehicle for truth.
Julian was not yet certain of the exact message he wished to
convey, but the events would be presented from several points of view, through
letters written by the protagonist, his friends, and an official of some sort
who’d represent the stale world order.
He’d already had several beautifully evocative ideas for
metaphors describing the gladiator himself, but they became somewhat blurry
after a night of cards and drink.
Oh, if only he could travel to Rome to let the atmosphere of
the city soak him all the way to the bone—without a wife fighting for his
attention and pulling him away from work because of feminine fancies.
He looked out of the window with growing disdain. Who in
their right mind traveled on Sunday, and so early at that? Julian would have
much preferred listening to a sermon at church to spending the day in what was
effectively a hearse carrying one of the brightest literary talents just
waiting to be discovered.
Now that Julian was feeling better, he was upset with himself
about not asking for a day’s delay on religious grounds. He’d never been as
devout about prayer as he was about his art, but if the Christian faith could
postpone his commitment to a woman he never met, he would gladly kneel and
pray. And Miss White wasn’t even a woman but a girl of fifteen, quite pretty in
the portrait Julian had been shown, and a viscount’s only daughter at that, but
surely as hungry for her intended’s attention as the bawdy house wench who’d
become sweet on Julian some years ago.
Back then, he still visited Madame Canard’s establishment to
do what everyone else did when they visited a school of Venus. These days,
Julian had neither the overwhelming desire nor patience to handle a cunt, no
matter how lovely the lady it was attached to. He still enjoyed having a drink
with the harlots, and no card table within twenty miles was as lively as the
one at Madame Canard’s, but at twenty-five he’d much rather handle needs of the
flesh in solitude.
Sweet perfume made his nose itch, the act itself made him
unpleasantly sticky—with his sweat and hers—and while he would not dare to ask,
it was his suspicion that the friends who usually accompanied him to the
brothel were only whoring so much because of pride and bravado. It was a sign
of status to be able to afford women and decent wine daily, and so fucking and
gambling was the thing you did as a social activity.
Julian’s eyes darted to Horace, who slept with his head
thrown back and leaning against the side of the carriage. His wide-open mouth
was asking for a distasteful prank, but Julian was far too upset to think of
amusing himself at Horace’s expense. So far, the day’s joke was on him.
In the years past, he’d been mocked by his father and
siblings over not taking on a profession that they deemed worthy of a
gentleman, but with the family being very prosperous, Julian saw no reason to
divert his focus from his one true calling.
Despite frequent threats, he’d hoped that Father—having four
willing sons and three daughters—wouldn’t push Julian into marriage, but it
seemed a lost cause. Soon it would be a wife nagging Julian to stop wasting his
time following intellectual pursuits and instead turn his attention to
practical matters. As the head of his own family, maybe he’d even be pushed to
join the family trade, one step farther from traveling abroad to meet the great
artists of the continent.
The carriage started a steep climb up a hill, and Julian
cursed, pushing the soles of his boots against the wall to keep his body from
rolling off the narrow bench. How long would it take for them to reach London
at this pace? It was over two hundred miles away, so a week perhaps? The last
time Julian had made the journey, he was so intoxicated most days that he
couldn’t properly count them.
But out of nowhere, as the slope of the hill became gentler,
the ugly dirt and grass that had been Julian’s only source of entertainment for
the last half an hour were replaced by lush greenery of tree tops. He grinned
and glanced at Horace, but the fat sod was too busy snoring to notice the
change in scenery.
A wicked plan was starting to take shape in Julian’s head,
and he quietly removed his feet from the side of the carriage and lowered them
to the floor. Pulling himself upright was easy enough after that, and he
stalled, eyes transfixed on the permanently flushed face of his brother that
was an unappetizing contrast with the white wig he wore, and made him look like
a man many years his senior. Julian might be less inclined to business, less
sedate than his siblings, but at the very least he had good taste and flair
most of Julian’s family lacked, buried deep in the stern world of pretense and
money.
Horace didn’t even stir. The old pig was fast asleep, and if
that wasn’t Julian’s chance to save his life, he didn’t know what was. Careful
not to make any sound, Julian gathered his valise and the coat he’d earlier
taken off because of the heat, stilling when the carriage came to a halt. His
eyes immediately darted to Horace, but his brother only smacked his lips in his
sleep. Hunt could have stopped to relieve himself. What an opportunity this
was!
Julian could feel his heartbeat in his throat when he softly
pressed on the door handle. Still distinctly aware of his brother being close
enough for their knees to touch, were Julian not careful enough. He opened the
carriage and left it in a soft stride before closing the door with care.
A warm breeze combed through his hair, wiping away the
unpleasant wetness of sweat, and his lungs filled with fresh air, but he didn’t
get to enjoy it.
The shining muzzle of a pistol was grinning at him from
inches away.
Despite the warm weather, Julian’s whole body was shaken by
a chill when his gaze met a pair of eyes so dark they might as well have been
lacquered coals. The man had a tricorn hat pulled low over his forehead, and a
black scarf obscuring the lower half of his face.
This can’t be happening.
“Don’t try to scream, or I will blow your brains out.” The
man squinted and lowered his gun to Julian’s pupil. “Through the eye.”
Julian opened his mouth as his throat closed, robbing him of
breath. He wanted to look back, suddenly wishing Horace weren’t such an easy
sleeper, but Hunt was nowhere to be seen either. Heat washed over Julian’s
body, making him stiffen as if he were made of clay. Had this man hurt their
coachman? If so, where was the body?
“What do you want?” Julian whispered, resting his hand on
the door handle when his knees softened.
“These.” A hand in a leather glove gripped Julian’s sweaty
fingers and slipped off his rings. “And all your other valuables.” The man
didn’t even blink, his voice dark as if dragged through tar.
Julian stared, and his mind finally came up with the answer
for what this was. “You’re a highwayman...”
“And you’re cork-brained to travel on a Sunday when the roads
are empty.” The man’s gaze drifted away to Horace for a split second, but he
must have judged him as no threat, and when Horace snored from inside the
carriage, the highwayman chuckled quietly.
Julian’s lungs emptied, and a silly grin emerged on his face,
encouraged by the highwayman’s amusement. “Ah, I should have gone to church
after all.”
The smile died on his lips when the robber poked Julian’s
temple with his gun.
“Your valuables,” he urged.
Julian clenched his teeth when they threatened to clatter.
He needed to keep calm. His father believed his friends to be villains, so he
could handle one. “I’ve been taken out of the tavern this morning with nothing
but the clothes on my back. I lost everything at the tables. You should try my
older brother. He’s Father’s heir. He should have a healthy sum on him.”
The highwayman gripped the front of Julian’s waistcoat and
pulled him forward so hard Julian stumbled straight into the man’s arms. He was
much taller than Julian, with wide shoulders that were so strong their size
couldn’t be just padding. His clothes smelled of leather and horse sweat, and
Julian found himself staring into the eyes above the black scarf.
Before he could say a word, the man turned him around, and
pressed the gun to the side of his head.
“Go on, wake up your brother.”
Julian breathed in and out, stiff with discomfort at the
warm body pressed against his back as if the highwayman was seeking warmth. The
gun provided some relief against heated skin. Its presence made Julian’s blood
speed through his veins. It wouldn’t go off. Murder wasn’t in the robber’s
interest, but if that was the case, then where the hell was Hunt?
Then an idea illuminated Julian’s mind. “I have a
proposition, Mister—”
The highwayman stilled. He’d be lying. Of course. “Noir,” he
said in the end. “What kind of proposition can you have, pretty boy? With no
money in your pockets.”
Something about Noir’s tone sent a hot shiver through
Julian’s ribcage, but he ignored the condescending words and slowly looked back
into the blackest eyes he’d ever seen. “I don't have much on me, but you must
know my father. He’s William Reece, the cloth merchant. You could take me and
ask for ransom. We could split it between us like two gentlemen,” he whispered
and gave Noir a polite nod. Appealing to the highwayman’s self-importance
should do the trick. His kind were known for a love of opulence and status they
didn’t deserve.
He must have managed to surprise the thief, because Noir’s
grip on him faltered. “How much could I ask for a son who hates his father?”
Julian exhaled in relief when he felt Noir’s aggression turn
away from him. “A lot. He needs me. I’m worth more than you can imagine,” he
said with a small smile.
Noir stole another glance at Horace sleeping in the back of
the carriage, and his gloved hand slid to Julian’s neck, squeezing around his
nape in a way that had Julian rising to his toes. “You better be. You scream,
or try to run, and I will kill you.”
Julian swallowed against the warm, soft leather. It felt
surprisingly expensive. Might have been snatched from a gentleman. “I don’t
doubt that,” he lied. “However, we share a common goal, friend.”
“Call me ‘friend’ once this is all over.” Noir shook his
head and pushed Julian behind the carriage, where a gloriously jet-black stallion
awaited its rider, and watched Julian with eyes as dark as Noir’s.
“I hope you haven’t hurt our driver. He’s a good fellow,”
said Julian, smiling at the huge beast in front of him.
“He’ll live. Your brother will find him once he wakes up.”
Julian was sure there had to be a hint of a smile under that
black scarf. When Noir put the gun inside his coat, Julian tried to assess the
man more thoroughly.
The black leather riding coat was worn but of good quality.
Could have been stolen too, but the clothes underneath, as black as everything
the man wore, were clean, suggesting the highwayman wasn’t sleeping rough
somewhere. Unless he dressed up for robbery.
Julian opened his mouth to comment on the beauty of the
horse, but Noir spun Julian around and pulled back his hands.
“Good heavens. We’re partners,” Julian whispered with
distaste. Hot and cold sweats were hitting him in rapid waves, and he couldn’t
tell whether he was scared or excited about this new development. Once he got
out of this, he could write a novel about the peril of travellers attacked by
rogues while driving through a dark, rainy forest, and with a bit of poetic
license, call it a true story.
“I haven’t decided on that yet,” said Noir, and a cold
shiver went down Julian’s back at the proficiency with which the man tied his
hands. A former sailor perhaps? That wouldn’t bode well, as those types rarely
possessed the intellectual capability for complicated schemes. His speech was
also far too refined to have been only recently acquired. Damnation!
“Mr. Noir. I’d much rather ride with my hands free. You see,
I’ve been incapacitated by gin just this morning, and I don’t feel secure
enough without my hands to assist me yet. I assure you, I am harmless.”
Once Noir had tied Julian’s hands, he turned him around.
“Now you are. Up.” And just as Julian was wondering how exactly he was supposed
to climb atop the tall beast, the scoundrel grabbed his legs and picked him up.
Julian barely refrained from screaming. It was no way to handle a gentleman,
and yet he couldn’t help but be amazed by Noir’s physical prowess.
Definitely a sailor. A naval officer, perhaps.
Julian’s face flushed with heat when he imagined his bottom
sticking out like a whore’s ass at a party. Good grief, what had he gotten
himself into? What was next? Being kidnapped by pirates?
His foot found the stirrup, and he exhaled with relief,
pushing his other leg over the horse’s hindquarters until he straddled its
back. “I see no reason for this kind of treatment, considering it was I who
came up with a most lucrative opportunity for you.”
“Keep that up, and I will gag you.” Noir was quick to get on
the horse himself as soon as he’d attached Julian’s coat and valise to the
saddle. Julian felt completely overwhelmed when the man reached for the reins,
all but embracing him.
Julian shuddered and curled his shoulders to not be in the
way, though no matter what he did, the shape of the saddle brought them close
together. “You’re a scoundrel. Another man in your profession would have
treated me right.”
Noir laughed darkly. “You are correct, sir. How could I have
forgotten.” Even though the mockery had him exaggerate the polite accent,
Julian was becoming certain that Noir’s natural speech was not that of someone
uneducated.
Before Julian understood what was happening, Noir pulled a
burlap sack over his head.
“I will scream,” whispered Julian, staring through the dots
of light in the smelly thing. He squeezed his hands into fists and pushed them
hard against Noir’s stomach. His mind was rattling again, as if the drunkenness
returned with full force.
“No one will hear you where we’re going.”
“Julian?” came a sleepy voice from the carriage.
Noir’s thighs tensed, and he must have urged his mount to
rush, as it went almost straight into gallop.
Julian screamed at the top of his lungs. “Horace!”
The stallion flew forward, and without the aid of his hands,
Julian was forced to hang on to it with his legs alone, shaken like a rattle.
The rapid gait moved him back and forth over the front of the saddle, making
Julian stiffen and push back against the firm chest behind him. Without seeing
where they were going, Julian tried to hold on to anything he had on hand, and
as it happened, it was probably Noir’s waistcoat. If the horse tripped, at
least they would stumble and break their bones together. Or maybe the villain
would cushion Julian’s fall in a well-meaning act of God.
It was Sunday.
Meet the Author
K. A. Merikan is the pen name for Kat and Agnes Merikan, a team of writers, who are mistaken for sisters with surprising regularity. Kat’s the mean sergeant and survival specialist of the duo, never hesitating to kick Agnes’s ass when she’s slacking off. Her memory works like an easy-access catalogue, which allows her to keep up with both book details and social media. Also works as the emergency GPS. Agnes is the Merikan nitpicker, usually found busy with formatting and research. Her attention tends to be scattered, and despite being over thirty, she needs to apply makeup to buy alcohol. Self-proclaimed queen of the roads.
They love the weird and wonderful, stepping out of the box, and bending stereotypes both in life and books. When you pick up a Merikan book, there’s one thing you can be sure of - it will be full of surprises.
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