Message From The Author

Rexanne Becnel

Genre: Historical Romance

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I have a new goal in life: to win a million dollars. No, Im not talking about Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? On stage with Regis Id probably freeze up and forget everything I ever knew.

What I want is to be a castaway on Survivor. I think it would be the absolute culmination of my checkered career as:

1. A back-to-the-land hippie (I survived fashions in the 60s and 70s.);

2. A stretch-the-groceries-as-far-as-they-can-go mommy (I know how to survive on rice, rice, and more rice, and make it taste good too.);

3. A know-when-to-nurture-know-when-to-stand-her-ground wife (Ive survived almost 30 years of married life.);

4. And a survivor-of-the-midlist-crunch writer (a dozen
years and more than a dozen books, and Im still here, arent I?).
Its obvious that I can endure almost anything. I am a
survivor with a capital S.

Yeah, a million dollars would be great, but theres another reason I want to be on Survivor. That show had everything a good book needs. A villain and villainess. Danger, adventure. Moments of despair, but also moments of elation. A cliff hanger at the end of every episode. But it was missing out in one crucial area. Romance. So many cute young kids and yet there was only one brief hint of a fling. What a disappointment. However, I could change all that.

Dont get me wrong. Im not the one looking for romanceIve got a great guy at home. What I want is to be the matchmaker on the show. Considering that the title of my current book is THE MATCHMAKER, who better to spice things up and get the right people paired off?

So please, vote for me to be on Survivor, and while youre waiting to find out if I made it, go out and get THE MATCHMAKER. If I can manipulate the likes of Olivia Byrde and the honorable Neville Hawke into happy matrimony, I can make a match for anyone!

You can write to Rexanne in care of St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.


Olivia faced Lord Hawke, her nemesis from the library last night. All I want from you is the return of my journal. She thrust out her hand. Give it to me now and I will try to forget your appalling behavior.

He grinned, a wicked half-grin that showed strong white teeth against his sun-browned face. She saw now the details shed had no time to see during their shocking first encounter: the crooked scar on his jaw, the thick black hair and slashing brows, the moody blue eyes. A gypsy horse trader in gentlemans attire, thats what he looked like. Dark and dangerous with nothing of the true gentleman beneath his handsome exterior.

Im afraid I shall never be able to forget last night, he said in a husky, intimate whisper.

Im sure I shall never be able to forget it either, she snapped. It was a figure of speech, as you well know. I only meant that I would not mention it to our hosts and thereby ruin what Mr. and Mrs. Cummings meant to be a pleasant holiday for their guests.

I dont see why He broke off and stared intently at her. Slowly his smug expression faded. Our hosts? You are acquainted with Mrs. Cummingsor rather, she is acquainted with you?

Of course. Like you I am her guest here. What did you think

You are a guest?

Olivia frowned. I said I was. Why else would I be here

What were you doing wandering the house before dawn? he interrupted her, his tone hard and accusing.

I could not sleep, not that it is any concern of yours. Why were you up? No, you neednt answer. Tis clear enough why you were up: to make a drunken fool of yourself and accost proper young women in the library.
It was a sharp set-down, though richly deserved.

But Lord Hawke seemed hardly to hear her curt remark. Bloody hell, he swore under his breath. Youre a lady.

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