For those folks who received this book yesterday, I hope you enjoy it! I’ll admit I loved writing it. Merry and Daniel were made for each other. Both were lonely and daring, although Merry hadn’t quite reconciled with that part of her nature until she was challenged. Guess it took the right man…

For those of you who haven’t seen the story yet, you’re welcome to drool over the cover. Not sure what he’s looking at—her boobs, I think. But that’s okay, too, right? 🙂 Enjoy the excerpt!

Newly widowed Merry Winslow treks west to claim an unexpected inheritance. Upon arriving, she discovers she inherited a brothel! Rather than being dismayed, Merry’s intrigued, thinking it the perfect way to shed the shackles of propriety that have subdued her wild and impulsive nature. Only problem is, she needs to learn to manage her new business.

Nathan Boone is amused by Merry’s determination and knows the perfect way to begin her instruction. When he opens the peephole for Merry to peer inside as one of the brothel’s “soiled doves” pleasures a customer, he reveals the passion hidden beneath Merry’s “widow’s weeds”.

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Excerpt from Making a Madam…

A callous-roughened finger lifted her chin. “Do you want me to stop, Merry? I don’t consider this part of our bargain.”

She opened her mouth to tell him it was all happening too fast, that she needed time to think, but her gaze locked with his.

Candlelight didn’t reach the shadowy hollows of his deep-set eyes, lending him a sinister appearance. Her heart skittered for a moment then her glance lowered to his mouth.

She’d barely had a taste of him, yet his lips were still blurred from their kiss, his bottom lip slightly swollen and oh-so tempting to explore.

The undisciplined part of her, the one she’d finally unleashed only this morning, made her rise on her toes and press her mouth to his to savor the taste and texture of him. Whiskey mixed with salt, firm but soft lips…

His mouth opened immediately, and his tongue thrust between her lips, sliding over her tongue, reaching deep to stroke and glide, filling Merry’s head with visions of Nathan gliding over the tops of her breasts and suckling her nipples, just as Johnny had done to Daisy.

Nathan’s hands slid up and down her back, his grip strengthening as he reached lower and cupped her bottom again, pressing her closer to the thick ridge crowding inside his pants.

Remembering the sight of Johnny’s cock and the way Daisy had pleased him, Merry’s doubts burned away, and she felt suddenly eager to see what she’d taken so deep inside her own body.

She tore her mouth from his. “I’d like to see you,” she said, in a thick voice she barely recognized as her own.

“Shall I undress for you?” he asked, gliding moist lips along her cheek.

“Please. Quickly.”

His hands dropped away from her, and he stepped back.

Golden light from the oil lamp on her desk, and the one candle beside her bed, flickered over him as he stripped. His jacket landed beside his feet. His suspenders slid from his broad shoulders. When his crisp white shirt lay crumpled beside him, she lifted her gaze to follow the curve of the tops of his powerful shoulders and the thick, ropey muscles of his chest and abdomen. A light dusting of dark hair stretched between his flat nipples and arrowed down toward his trousers.

She realized with a start he hadn’t worn anything beneath his shirt, no long-handled underwear, and she wondered if he’d bothered with any undergarments below.

Feeling breathless as his hands hovered over the button at the top of his pants, she flattened a hand against her chest, which only made her more aware of the shallow breaths lifting her chest and the heavy thud of her heartbeat. “Why did you stop?” she blurted out.

“Sorry,” he said, flicking open the button. “I was too busy watching you, and wondering if I needed to get you out of that corset.”

“I am a little winded, but please,” she said, waiving toward his lower body, “continue.”

Disappointingly, he started this time with his boots, toeing them off one at a time then drawing off his woolen socks. As his hands returned to the waist of his trousers, her breath caught and held.

He tugged down his trousers, wincing when they snagged. He reached inside and cupped his erection then worked his clothing the rest of the way down his hips. When he straightened, she understood the deep sigh he let out.

His cock strained upward, thick and straight against his belly. Much larger than Johnny’s—and even more impressive than the glass cock Daisy had stroked inside herself.

Merry stared for a long moment, noting the ruddy color of his shaft, the purplish shade of the rounded head. It pulsed once, up and down, a little telltale jerk that she knew he couldn’t control since he stood so stiffly, waiting for her comment.

“Please stay just like that,” she whispered, reaching for the buttons behind her neck, opening her dress slowly and awkwardly until the front fell forward, exposing the top of her corset and the gentle swell of her bosom. A few more tiny buttons, and she slid down the skirt to pool around her feet. Her petticoats followed, and then she bent to unbutton her boots and slid them off, only realizing as she straightened, that she’d given him a view of her breasts plumping above the restrictive corset.

She flushed, wishing she wasn’t so absurdly shy. He stood with his cock bared, and she still had clothing covering most of her womanly parts.

“Let me unlace you,” he said, his voice sounding tight and husky.

She walked toward him and slowly turned her back. His nimble fingers plucked the laces until the hard boning relaxed, and the corset fell away. At last, she could draw a deep breath. Then wearing only her chemise and drawers, she faced him.

His glance swept her body then met hers. Tension tightened his large, muscled frame. His hands settled on his hips as he waited.

She supposed it was only fair. Merry pushed down the shoulders of her chemise, one at a time, lifting her arms out, but keeping her breasts covered with the fabric. She wished she’d thought to douse the lights before she bared the rest for his gleaming gaze. “Maybe you could turn around…”

A tic pulsed along the side of his jaw, but his features softened, and he stepped out of his trousers and turned.

This view of his body did nothing to ease her embarrassment. His shoulders only seemed wider, narrowing to a trim waist. His buttocks were rounded, firm, and she had the strangest urge to cup them.

“Are you going to change your mind, Merry?” he said, still facing away.

“I’ll admit I’m a little disconcerted, undressing for you like this. I’m afraid I’ll disappoint you.”

“Because your breasts aren’t as large as Daisy’s?”

“Neither are my hips.”

“I’ll like everything I see, I promise. I’m partial to slender women.”

“Have you done this with many women?”

“Enough I’ve learned how to please a woman. Will you let me show you what I’ve learned?”

If you think Hillary Clinton’s got it bad as a female running for President, take a look at how Victoria Woodhull, the first woman to ever run for President in the U.S. spent her Election Day: in jail.

To gain the proper perspective, we need to go back a few months. The summer of 1872 was very hard for Victoria. She was ill with a mysterious ailment that couldn’t be diagnosed and that recurred several times over three months. Her beloved newspaper, Woodhull & Claflin’s Weekly, shut down due to lack of funds. She had already been forced to sell her Murray Hill mansion, and then was kicked out of several hotels, while others wouldn’t rent a room to her (no one wanted to be associated with her or the controversy that surrounded her). She and her family (husband, kids, parents, brothers and sisters) lived for while in the Woodhull & Claflin brokerage offices, but when the landlord found out, he raised her rent so high they were forced to abandon even that location, so that they were homeless for a few days. In desperation, she sent a note to Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, asking for his help to get one of the hotels to let them stay there. He curtly refused.

Her sister, Maggie, eventually managed to rent a place for them to stay under an assumed name. Victoria was tired and still ill, worn out from the whirlwind of her year, which had started off so promising. In September, at a meeting of the National Convention of American Spiritualists in Boston, she decided to finally spill the beans on Rev. Henry Ward Beecher – revealing her long-kept secret that the married preacher was having an affair with Lib Tilton, wife of Theodore Tilton, Victoria’s former lover.

Not satisfied by this small audience – and perhaps in revenge for Rev. Beecher’s refusal to come to her aid in her hour of need – Victoria began plotting on a larger scale. She and Tennie would resurrect Woodhull & Claflin’s Weekly for one more explosive issue (though this didn’t turn out to be its last, only it’s most famous) that would right two long-hidden wrongs. While Victoria told every detail of the Beecher-Tilton scandal she could recall in a fake interview format, Tennie penned a story about the night a businessman named Luther Challis relieved a young girl of her virginity, likely against her will.

Victoria’s “bombshell” was hidden within a seemingly ordinary issue of the newspaper, but that did not stop people from lapping up the scandal inside. According to my sources, the paper sold for 10 cents but by evening people were paying $2.50. The first run of 10,000 copies sold quickly. Some people rented theirs to read for $1.00 a day. One copy even sold for $40. More than 250,000 copies sold in three days. The distributor, American News Company, refused to replace it on the stands after the first 100,000 copies were sold so newsboys came to their offices to get them in person. Some copies were bought and destroyed by Beecher’s supporters, for the article called in to question the idea of marriage as a bedrock of society.

But in the end, it wasn’t Victoria’s story that landed both sisters in jail on Election Day; it was Tennie’s. In telling her tale of Luther Challis’ lewd behavior, Tennie used a line that, although also quoted in the Bible (Deuteronomy), was considered obscene. “To prove he had seduced a maiden, he carried for days on his finger, exhibiting in triumph, the red trophy of her virginity.” Then, when they were tricked into mailing a copy of the paper to Anthony Comstock, the country’s self-appointed moral guardian, they were arrested for sending obscene material through the mail.

So instead of spending Election Day out attempting to vote for herself and getting arrested – and in the process making history ­– Victoria sat with Tennie in the jail cell of a common criminal. (Normally they would have been given special accommodations because they were wealthy public figures, but both the guest quarters and citizen bedroom were full at the time. And to add insult to injury, Victoria’s one-time-friend-turned-rival Susan B. Anthony made history that day by casting her ballot in Rochester, NY. She was arrested and found guilty but refused to pay the fine. Her sensational trial the following year spread her message of suffrage far and wide – just as Victoria had dreamed of doing on her own.

Forty-eight years before women were granted the right to vote, one woman dared to run for President of the United States, yet her name has been virtually written out of the history books.

Rising from the shame of an abusive childhood, Victoria Woodhull, the daughter of a con-man and a religious zealot, vows to follow her destiny, one the spirits say will lead her out of poverty to “become ruler of her people.”

But the road to glory is far from easy. A nightmarish marriage teaches Victoria that women are stronger and deserve far more credit than society gives. Eschewing the conventions of her day, she strikes out on her own to improve herself and the lot of American women.

Over the next several years, she sets into motion plans that shatter the old boys club of Wall Street and defile even the sanctity of the halls of Congress. But it’s not just her ambition that threatens men of wealth and privilege; when she announces her candidacy for President in the 1872 election, they realize she may well usurp the power they’ve so long fought to protect.

Those who support her laud “Notorious Victoria” as a gifted spiritualist medium and healer, a talented financial mind, a fresh voice in the suffrage movement, and the radical idealist needed to move the nation forward. But those who dislike her see a dangerous force who is too willing to speak out when women are expected to be quiet. Ultimately, “Mrs. Satan’s” radical views on women’s rights, equality of the sexes, free love and the role of politics in private affairs collide with her tumultuous personal life to endanger all she has built and change how she is viewed by future generations.

This is the story of one woman who was ahead of her time – a woman who would make waves even in the 21^st century – but who dared to speak out and challenge the conventions of post-Civil War America, setting a precedent that is still followed by female politicians today.

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About the Author

Nicole Evelina is a multi-award-winning historical fiction and romantic comedy writer. Her most recent novel, Madame Presidentess, a historical novel about Victoria Woodhull, America’s first female Presidential candidate, was the first place winner in the Women’s US History category of the 2015 Chaucer Awards for Historical Fiction.

Her debut novel, Daughter of Destiny, the first book of an Arthurian legend trilogy that tells Guinevere’s life story from her point of view, was named Book of the Year by Chanticleer Reviews, took the Grand Prize in the 2015 Chatelaine Awards for Women’s Fiction/Romance, won a Gold Medal in the fantasy category in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, a Gold Medal in the fantasy category in the Reader’s Favorite Awards, and was short-listed for the Chaucer Award for Historical Fiction. Its sequel, Camelot’s Queen, was awarded the prestigious B.R.A.G Medallion.  Been Searching for You, her contemporary romantic comedy, won the 2016 Colorado Independent Publishers Association Award for Romance, the 2015 Romance Writers of America (RWA) Great Expectations and Golden Rose contests and was a finalist in the chick-lit category of the Readers Favorite Awards.

Nicole’s writing has appeared in The Huffington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, The Independent Journal, Curve Magazine and numerous historical publications. She is one of only six authors who completed a week-long writing intensive taught by #1 New York Times bestselling author Deborah Harkness. As an armchair historian, Nicole researches her books extensively, consulting with biographers, historical societies and traveling to locations when possible. For example, she traveled to England twice to research the Guinevere’s Tale trilogy, where she consulted with internationally acclaimed author and historian Geoffrey Ashe, as well as Arthurian/Glastonbury expert Jaime George, the man who helped Marion Zimmer Bradley research The Mists of Avalon.

Nicole is a member of and book reviewer for The Historical Novel Society, as well as a member of the Historical Writers of America, Romance Writers of America, the St. Louis Writer’s Guild, Women Writing the West, Alliance of Independent Authors, the Independent Book Publishers Association and the Midwest Publisher’s Association.

Her website is https://nicoleevelina.com/. She can be reached online at:

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