Author: S.J. Foxx
Publisher: NineStar Press
Release Date: October 30, 2017
Heat Level: 3 - Some Sex
Pairing: Male/Male
Length: 50300
Genre: Historical, 1920s, historical, jazz age,
class difference, high society, england, aristocracy
Synopsis
After
scandalising his family name, wealthy brat Hugo is kicked out of his parent's
home in NYC, and tossed into the English countryside. There, he must live with
his extended family and learn what it means to be a “gentleman,” or be cut off
and left without his inheritance.
Brattish,
reckless, and out of control, it seems that Hugo may never learn his manners.
That is, until he meets his match: a stoic, no-nonsense valet, Sebastian.
Hugo
and Sebastian are swept up in a forbidden fling, and they play a game of power.
Can
Sebastian get a handle on his master? Or will Hugo's foolishness leave him
penniless?
Excerpt
The
Valet
S.J. Foxx © 2017
All Rights Reserved
S.J. Foxx © 2017
All Rights Reserved
One:
Mahogany & Silk
The
day was like smudged charcoal, and the sky poured with rain that hammered
against a bottle green car roaring over the hills. In the back of the
automobile, Hugo Bentley slumped lower in his seat, vastly unimpressed by his
welcome to England. He pulled his fedora down over his face and closed his eyes
against the waterlogged scenery.
Everything
in this country, so he had heard, was miserable. From the stiff upper lip and
cold shoulder the British were renowned for, right down to their lifeless taste
in fashion.
The
young man had left behind the buzz of New York City, where jazz filled the
streets and pretty girls in cocktail bars wore feathers in their hair. He’d
spent his nights in smoky halls with a cigar between his lips and a deck of
cards in his hands. There he’d thrived amongst glitzy lights of Times Square,
with wind in his hair as he hummed down the streets in the back of a Revere.
Life
had been late nights and side-splitting laughter, with the occasional bottle of
moonshine to pass around his circle of young educated men.
Unfortunately,
Hugo’s hedonistic existence had been discovered by his enraged parents but only
after it had been discovered by the press. The twenty-year-old heir to a steel
business had been found in bed with the wife of his father’s business partner.
A simple tip off to the papers had led to the devastation of the Bentley
family’s hard-earned good name.
Sickened
by the very sight of him, his parents had sent Hugo packing. They’d shooed him
to the English countryside, where he could redeem himself under the watchful
gaze of his aunt and uncle, Ethel and Henry Harrington. With their help, Hugo
could learn a thing or two about being a gentleman.
With
the bleak green backdrop of the moors replacing the distractions of a big city,
his parents had decided it was the perfect location to stop Hugo from getting
himself into trouble. This was his opportunity to fix things. He either
straightened up his act, or he’d be cut off. He just prayed the Harringtons
weren’t too awful.
Exhausted
from his week-long trip, the lull of the motor and the drifting of his thoughts
sent Hugo to sleep.
When
he next woke, the sky had darkened into an indigo blue and the rain had
subsided into a haze that made the air thick with a sticky moisture. He pushed
his fedora back onto his head and turned his heavy-lidded gaze outside. The
stark silhouette of Finchley Hall loomed in the distance, behind wrought-iron
gates.
It
was surrounded by endless green lands and a patch of woods that stretched out
as far as the next village. It was a foreboding home with ivy garlands creeping
up the pristine white walls. A great marble balcony overlooked the driveway
with cascading steps that led to the front door, polished and black with a
silver knocker in the shape of a lion’s head.
Potted
trees, groomed to precision, were lined up like guardsmen alongside the gravel
path. Hugo groaned and turned away. These were the types of homes that the
prissiest, insanely wealthy people owned. Aunt Ethel had married well. He
was certain her husband was going to be insufferable.
The
car weaved around the stunning marble fountain, the soft sigh of the falling
water a sweet song that resonated in the surrounding silence. They followed the
gravel path and the car began to slow, tyres crunched over the stones until
they stopped outside what was to be Hugo’s home for the next year.
On
the flagstone threshold, a welcoming party waited to greet him.
“Welcome
to Finchley Hall, sir,” a plump silver-haired man with a jolly face said as he
opened the car door. Behind him stood servants. There were valets, footmen, and
maids alike, lined up shoulder to shoulder like an army platoon, straight-faced
and pristine. Hugo could only assume this man was their butler. Their commander
in chief.
“Thanks,”
Hugo replied flatly. Removing his hat, he ruffled up his sandy-blond curls and
clambered out of the car with the help of a gloved hand, then turned his chin
to observe the band of servants with interest.
Their
uniforms were extravagant. The men wore white bow ties and beautifully tailored
black tailcoats, with gleaming brass buttons. The valets wore forest green
waistcoats, and the taller footmen wore grey. The maids were attired in simple
black dresses and white aprons with ruffled edges, their hair pinned back into
neat, simple buns.
The
Harrington family appeared at the door then. First was Aunt Ethel, a mirror
image of his mother, with copper curls all swept up into an elegant bun. She
was a little thing with ivory skin and soft green eyes like his own. Her thin
mouth pulled taut when she looked at her nephew.
“Hugo,”
she said stiffly, as if the word tasted sour. She folded her arms across her
chest and wrinkled her nose.
Hugo
turned to look at her and glowered. Turning the rim of his hat around in his
hands, he gingerly approached the grand prison. “Ethel,” he grumbled, equally
unimpressed.
“Show
some courtesy, boy.” Ah, and there was Uncle Henry, barrelling through the door
shortly after his wife—a robust man who enjoyed one too many sweets. He had a
hardened, weather-beaten face like tanned leather. The trenches had been hard
on him.
“You’ve
disgraced your family and gotten yourself into a damn mess, Hugo. We’ve been
kind enough to take you into our home and this is how you greet my wife?” he
scoffed.
“Henry,
not out here on the balcony,” Ethel snapped. “The servants are listening. What
is the matter with you?”
Hugo’s
fingers tightened around the rim of the hat, and he straightened his back,
drawing his shoulders in against his neck. This was the man who was supposed to
help him become a gentleman? Goodness.
“Apologies,
Uncle, Aunt Ethel. It’s been a long trip. Tiredness has gotten the better of
me,” he said and pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt rather like a
chastised infant.
“I
won’t hear any excuses, Hugo. If we are to do this for you, you will show us
the respect we deserve, or we’ll send you straight back home and you can forget
about your damn future.” Uncle Henry’s big hands were turning white as they
tightened around the balcony frame.
“Henry,”
Ethel hissed.
“I
understand. I meant no offence, honestly,” Hugo said. It was hard to try to
keep his tone even, to keep the venom out of it. What a ridiculous
overreaction.
His
uncle looked back at him blankly, his gaze roaming across his clothes until his
face wrinkled into a frown. “Funny choice of attire, no?” he grumbled, raising
a brow, trying to change the subject, no doubt. Perhaps he could feel the beady
eyes of his wife burning into his temple.
Hugo
tugged at the sleeve of his mustard tweed travelling coat, grateful for the new
direction of conversation. “Fashion is very different in New York, Uncle.”
“I’ll
say!” Henry said, looking down at the hat he clutched to his chest too.
From
the corner of his eye, Hugo caught the flickering expression of a servant,
whose forehead creased and brows knit together, puckering up his face as though
he’d bitten into a lemon. He was eyeing up his mustard tweed too.
Hugo
met his gaze and the slightest hint of a smile lifted the footman’s mouth
before he looked away.
“Hugo!”
His
curly-haired cousin came bounding out of the door and hurried down the steps to
greet him in the courtyard. She opened up her arms and wrapped them tightly
around his shoulders, squeezing. Scrambling to try to reach, she pushed herself
onto her tiptoes and planted a quick kiss on both of his cheeks.
“Dear
Arabella.” Hugo gave her his best smile, rather cheered by the contrast in
greeting. He took her by the shoulders and leaned back to get a good look at
her. The only Harrington he’d previously met, she’d visited America with her
maid a couple of times in the past. “Goodness, you shot up! You were the size
of a bunny when we last met.”
“I’m
a woman now.” She preened, giving a little twirl. Her coral dress fanned out,
circling around her.
“You
are not a woman until you find a suitable man willing to marry you,” huffed
Aunt Ethel, shaking her head.
“I’m
only sixteen, Mama! I don’t need to find a husband yet.”
Ethel
only sighed. “Now, let us not dilly-dally outside, talking nonsense. Hugo has
had a long trip. Edward will carry up your things, Hugo, and once you feel
rested, we will introduce you formally to everybody else. For now, you only
need to know Edward. He’ll be your valet for the duration of your stay, and
Thompson, he’s in charge of the household staff.” Ethel gestured to the
jolly-faced man who had greeted him.
Hugo’s
gaze flickered back to that tall man with the mischievous smile, but it was the
shorter man beside him who nodded his greeting.
Inside
Finchley Hall, it smelled of polished wood and the greasy duck that was cooking
away in the oven downstairs.
Chandeliers
drenched in crystals hung from the wooden buttresses, and beneath them, a
beautiful Persian rug filled the hallway floor space.
The
grand staircase was carpeted in plush red, complemented by the wrought-iron
banister, fashioned into curling roses that spiralled alongside the stairs.
Edward
scurried up the stairs. He had a shock of blond hair, a button nose, and the
mannerisms of a mouse. Edward showed him to his room without speaking a single
word other than goodbye.
Purchase Links
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What did you want to become when you were a kid?
From when I was about 9, up until
I was 17 I wanted to be a lawyer. I'm not sure where the idea came from, or why
I wanted to do it. Of course, I grew up and realised I'd be super bored if I
went into that.
Do you recall the first ever book/novel you read?
Not the first, but one of the
first books I fell completely in love with is called Lionboy. It's basically a
story about a boy who can talk to cats, and he takes a ride on a travelling
circus boat in order to try and track down his kidnapped parents. It had so
much love from me as a child because Charlie, the MC, like me, had parents of
two different ethnicities.
Who are your books mostly dedicated to?
The Valet is dedicated to two
people I used to collaborative write with. They gave me so much moral support
and feedback about the work I was doing and I appreciate them so much for it.
Over the years, I've really come to love constructive criticism!
Who is the most supportive of your writing in your family?
All of them. They know I’ve
written a book that’s being published. I’ve been writing all sorts of things
since I was ten. I’ve yet to tell my mum and her gf that what I’m writing is
super explicit though! I'm warming up to telling her soon, I'll let you know
how that goes.
When you were young, did you ever see writing as a career or full-time
profession?
The idea of having a writing
career to me has always seemed like a dream. Never had I pictured it as an actual
achievable goal until very recently. When people asked 'If you could be
anything, what would that be?' I'd hesitantly say an author but I never, ever
pictured myself being here, in this moment, answering author questions.
If given the opportunity to do it all over again, would you change
anything in your books?
No, because I take every
experience as a learning curve.
Is there a particular
kind of attire you like to write in?
Anything comfy! I wear really loose clothes, big t-shirts,
loose trousers. Usually I'm all about red lipstick and pretty dresses but when
I'm writing I look like I just rolled out of bed. Zero effort. The baristas
must judge me so hard.
A self-confessed geek; lover of the history, travelling and musicals. SJ loves to spend her weekends in museums, wandering around antique bookshops, or finding new, quirky places to explore. She feels blessed to be from a multi-cultural background, with an Irish mother and an African father.
Soppy as she is, you can be sure to find light-hearted, fluffy books from this author, with just a light sprinkle of feels.
Author Links
Twitter: https://twitter.com/SjFoxx
Tour Schedule
10/30 MM Good Book Reviews
10/30 Books,Dreams,Life
10/31 The Novel Approach
11/1 The Blogger Girls
11/1 Divine Magazine
11/2 Happily Ever Chapter
11/2 Drops of Ink
11/2 Wicked Faerie's Tales
and Reviews
11/2 Scattered Thoughts and
Rogue Words
11/3 Stories That Make You
Smile
11/3 Bayou Book Junkie
11/4 Love Bytes Reviews
Giveaway
One lucky winner will receive an ebook of their choice from NineStar
Press
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