Book Tour: The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb by Vicktor Alexander

Author Name: Vicktor Alexander

Book Name: The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb

Series: The Scandalous Whispers of the Remmington Realm

Release Date: November 27, 2015

Pages: 304 pages

Categories: Alternate Universe, Fantasy, Gay Fiction, Historical, M/M Romance, Mystery, Romance, Science Fiction, *Trans, Interracial, Military

Goodreads Link: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27422380-the-servant-duchess-of-whitcomb

Publisher: Dreamspinner Press

Cover Artist: Anne Cain

Orley Garrick is known throughout Angland not only as the man with two dukedoms but also as the hero who survived a brutal kidnapping at the hands of Nafoleon’s army, never once betraying the secrets of His Majesty. Still haunted by his memories, Orley pushes his crippled body to dangerous limits, all in an attempt to run from the demons of his past.

Until he meets Chester Boland, a maid in his friend’s household. Orley is besieged by desire for this gorgeous male woman, and by a connection he cannot ignore. But there are those within the Remmington Realm who take issue with the Duke’s choice—especially given Chester’s Tafrican lineage.

Having stared death in the face and won, Orley proposes they steal away and elope. However, before they can begin their new life, they uncover dangerous secrets that go deeper than they could ever imagine—involving those they trust the most.

Orley and Chester must discover exactly how deep these secrets run before their enemies make sure Chester is removed from Orley’s arms… forever.

THE SHARP retort of gunfire exploded around Orley Garrick, Duke of Whitcomb, and he ducked, trying to avoid the debris and the bodies of fallen soldiers around him as he surged forward. The smoke from the countless rifles burned his eyes as he desperately looked for the person who had caught his eye. He heard the cries of the dying calling out to him as he rode his horse farther into the thick of battle. Using his sword, he cut down an enemy soldier who raced toward him, mouth open as he let out a battle cry. Orley closed his eyes against the spray of blood across his face and blocked out the sound of the man’s death gurgle as he fell to the ground beneath his own horse.

Orley raced on toward the figure in white who didn’t belong on the battlefield. He called out a warning, telling the woman to be careful, because there was no way a man would be on a battlefield wearing a long, flowing white chemise, free of dust and bloodstain, appearing almost angelic among the crowd of soldiers. The woman didn’t stop. Instead she walked straight toward the commander of the enemy soldiers, and fear filled Orley. He wasn’t sure why; he didn’t know the woman, and yet he could not let anything happen to her.

At that moment, the woman turned to look at him, and Orley gasped when he realized the woman in front of him was not female as he’d suspected but male. Why in the world was a lady on the battlefield?

“You should not be here!” he yelled, trying to warn the male, but just as he got close enough to lift the woman onto the back of his horse, an enemy soldier plunged his sword through the woman’s back and out through his chest. Orley watched helplessly as the woman’s eyes widened moments before he collapsed to the ground, and a grief unlike aught he’d ever experienced ripped through him.

He was not sure how he knew, but the dying woman belonged to him, and someone had just taken him away.

Tossing his head back, Orley let out an anguished shout at the heavens.

ORLEY WOKE, panting and sweating, in the home of his friend, Heathcliff.

Holy. Shit. That one had been very different from his other nightmares. He rubbed his face with his hand and groaned as pain raced through his leg—the one that would never be the same. All because of war, a battle. All because of….

Orley shook his head. No, he wasn’t going to think about that.

Someone knocked lightly on the door, and Orley winced as he realized his plan to come to his room and take a quick nap after his taxing journey out of Tlondon had turned into a deep sleep and a brand-new nightmare.

God, he hated sleeping.

“Enter,” he called out as he sat up and swung his legs off the bed he was borrowing while visiting Heathcliff and Lucien for their country-house party. The door opened, and Orley turned to address the person standing there. He stopped short, almost swallowing his tongue as he took in the vision of the most beautiful creature to have ever been born.

Orley had been privileged to see many beautiful people in his life. Male and female, he was a lover of aesthetically pleasing images and didn’t discriminate. However, all of them paled in comparison to the lovely light-brown-skinned woman in front of him. Orley’s stomach clenched, his groin tightening as he inhaled sharply. The lovely scent of jasmine wafted up to his nostrils, and his eyes slid closed as he relished in the delightful fragrance emanating from the male who had just entered his room.

“Forgive me, Your Grace. I was sent to bring you a light repast and perhaps something to wash up with? His Grace the Duke of Pompinshire thought that perhaps you would like to freshen up before joining the rest of the guests downstairs.” The woman’s voice was soft and lyrical, with a slight lilt to it, and Orley wondered if perhaps he sang. He would have no problem lounging around on the settee listening to him sing or even just talk. Of course, as he took in the male’s appearance, he felt the desire to do much more than just listen to him.

“Your Grace? Are you ill?” the servant asked, and Orley swallowed, shaking his head.

“N-no. I’m fine. Just a bit out of sorts, I’m afraid. I appear to have overslept during my nap, and now I am feeling quite peckish,” he lied.

The woman nodded, his hazel eyes lighting with relief. Orley wondered at that. Was his well-being really of great concern, or was it just because the maid had been sent to look after Orley?

Orley allowed his gaze to rove over the young male’s form again, taking in every detail intently. He would like to have something to conjure up in his mind’s eye later on that evening when he put his hand to his already burgeoning erection.

Wearing the female black dress with a white apron, which was the maid’s uniform that was standard in most homes of the gentry, the young woman had honey blond hair that was currently pulled back in a very luscious chignon at the nape of his neck, and Orley could only imagine how long and thick it was. An image rose to his brain of that hair hanging down over his face as the young woman slid up and down his cock, and he pressed a hand to the sheets covering his waist. The young male’s skin was almond colored, and all Orley wanted to do was spend hours licking every inch of his body. He was not overly tall, only a few inches taller than Lucien, Heath’s husband, but still much shorter than Orley. And where Orley was all hard, thick muscles, the male maid before him was slender, though still with a lovely, toned body.

His slim-fingered hands held a covered silver tray, and Orley gestured him forward with a beckoning wave.

“Well, far be it from me to refuse such generosity from His Grace. You can just place it there on the nightstand,” he directed, watching the sway of the servant’s hips beneath the skirt of his maid’s gown as he walked toward the cherrywood nightstand. Orley shoved his fingers through his blond locks, messing up his hair and throwing his queue into disarray. He was unnerved as the vestiges of the nightmare faded from his mind, wreaking havoc with the lovely, distracting image of Heathcliff’s maid, whose form even now was causing a pleasurable ache in his balls.

“Is there anything else that I can do for you, Your Grace?” the maid asked, his voice hushed, eyes downcast, and a slight tinge of red to his light brown skin.

Orley prided himself on being a man of honor, integrity, and character. As a matter of fact, his grandfather, Charles Edrick Garrick I, the former Duke of Whitcomb, had more than once given him lessons and lectures on the way a gentleman was to behave. Anyone can strut around and use his physical strength to try and prove his brawn. But it takes honor, patience, gentleness, character, integrity, fortitude, knowing when to fight, knowing when to walk away, knowing when to love, how to love, and when to let go, and most importantly, knowing when to use your physical strength and when to be humble, that makes you a man.

Orley had always believed those words from his grandfather, had in fact lived by those words for his entire life. He’d only strayed from them when he’d served in His Majesty’s military and on those rare occasions when he’d allowed Blaine, Heathcliff, and Quincy to talk him into traveling down into the Lower East End to partake of the wares of the light-skirts. And while his grandfather’s words usually guided him, right now he was seriously considering doing something illicit.

He couldn’t believe the images that were passing through his mind. Flashes. Quick, as if they were memories like his time spent on the battlefield rather than the salacious, hopeful yearnings of a desirous, dry, fruitless attraction. However, the longer he spent in the company of the object of his mind’s current musings, the more it seemed his “dry, fruitless attraction” was soaked in hope and possibility. And perhaps it was for that reason that rationality and his grandfather’s words of character, honor, and integrity grew softer and softer until they were suddenly silent. All he could concentrate on was how lovely Heathcliff’s maid was. How round the male woman’s derriere was. How slim his shoulders were. How graceful his neck was.

How full his lips were, and how much Orley desperately wanted to kiss them.

“I think I would really like to know your name,” he heard himself saying.

The maid’s eyes widened, and he gasped softly. “Me, Your Grace?”

Orley chuckled. “Of course you. There is no one else in the room but you and I, and I assure you that I already know my own name. Unless it has changed in the time I have been asleep. It hasn’t, has it?”

The maid giggled and covered his mouth, shaking his head. Orley found himself even more enchanted. When was the last time he’d heard someone allow themselves to be so free that they just giggled? His life was constantly surrounded by danger, drama, gossip, backstabbers, and intrigue. He had a very small group of people he could trust, and they didn’t often have the time to smile, much less giggle. Being around someone who could giggle was a relief. It was like a bright ray of sunshine. Orley absolutely had to have the maid’s name.

“No, Your Grace. Your name hasn’t changed.” The maid glanced away for a moment, as if embarrassed, and then looked back. “My name is Chester.” He executed a flawless curtsy, and Orley rose from the bed and bowed low, smiling at Chester’s gasp. He knew Chester was surprised that a member of the gentry, and a duke no less, would bow to him, but he would soon learn that Orley was unlike every other duke out there.

“It is an honor to meet you, Chester. I am extremely happy to be in your presence and very happy that you will be serving me, and now….” Orley stepped close to Chester, looking down into the young woman’s hazel brown eyes. His heart was pounding, and his leg, for the first time in years, was not throbbing in pain—perhaps that was because only one thing on his body could be throbbing at a time, and his cock already had that covered. “I would very much like to kiss you.”

“Y-you would?” Chester stammered.

Orley nodded, lifting his hand to brush his fingers against the side of Chester’s cheek.

“Is that okay, Chester? I find you to be the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life, and I would really like to kiss you. May I?”

“You’re asking me?” Chester looked confused. “I was told that men of your standing didn’t ask, that you just take.”

Orley shook his head, saddened by what Chester thought of men of the ton, but he knew Chester’s assumptions came as a result of dealing with “men” of a certain ilk. He would be speaking with Heathcliff about those matters later that week, but at that moment, all of his energy and attention was focused on Chester.

“Of course I am asking you. You always have a choice. Not just with me, but with every single man in the world. You do not have to do anything you don’t want to do. At least, that is the way it should be in a perfect world. So if you don’t want to kiss me, we don’t have to.” Orley would be disappointed, he would be haunted for days, perhaps a fortnight, by the fullness of Chester’s mouth, but eventually he would get over it.

Chester nibbled on his bottom lip and then grinned. “I would love for you to kiss me, Your Grace.”

Orley wanted to let out a loud yell of triumph, but he held back and lowered his lips to Chester’s full, pillow-soft mouth. He was fully expecting the surge of lust that spread through his limbs. Maybe he was even expecting the tingle that spread through his fingers and toes. However, the lightheaded feeling that drowned him in peace and yet simultaneous excitement, and the way his heart sped up, were completely unexpected. He growled and pulled Chester to him, as close as he could possibly get the woman. He felt a bit like a ravenous beast, wanting to devour Chester whole.

He lifted his lips to take a breath, opened his eyes, and gazed down into Chester’s dazed ones. Chester smiled slowly up at him. Orley grinned back, rubbing his hand up and down Chester’s back and already preparing for the next round of kissing.

So he was surprised when he went to lower his head for another kiss and was met with nothing but air and the sound of his bedroom door closing.

Vicktor “Vic” Alexander wrote his first story at the age of ten and hasn’t stopped writing since. He loves reading about anything and everything and is a proud member of the little known U.N. group (Undercover Nerds) because while he lives, eats, breathes, and sleeps sports, he also breathes history and science fiction and grew up a Trekkie. But don’t ask him about Dungeons & Dragons, because he has no idea how to play that game. When it comes to writing he loves everything from paranormal to contemporary to fantasy to BDSM to historical and is known not only for being the Epilogue King but also for writing stories that cross lines and boundaries that he doesn’t know are there. Vic is a proud father of two daughters one of whom watches over him from Heaven with his deceased partner Christopher. Vic is a proud trans* and gay man, and when he is not writing, he is hanging out with his friends, or being distracted by videos of John Barrowman, Scott Hoying, and Shemar Moore. Vicktor has published numerous bestselling novels and has a WIP list that makes him exhausted just thinking about. He knows that he will be still be writing about hot men falling in love with each other, long after he is living in an assisted living facility, flirting with the hot, male nurses.

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Today I’m welcoming Vicktor Alexander to chat about writing, life, and their current project. Welcome! Let’s talk a little about The Servant Duchess of Whitcomb.

What inspired you to write this story?

I am a huge history nerd and the Regency and Medieval time period are my favourite eras after the American Civil War. I wanted to write a series set during the Regency time period, reminiscent of the Harlequin Romance and Harper Collins books of old. The kind where there are betrothals, forced marriages, pregnancies that lead to marriage, highwaymen who kidnap the young, virgin, lady and seduces her into a relationship, etc. However, I wanted it to be a gay romance series, paying homage to the transgender/intersex community, I wanted my “men” or my “males” to be able to get pregnant, but I still wanted to keep it historically accurate. So I figured out a way to do it. It all came because of a question I asked myself: “What if there were certain females in the Regency period who were called dukes and certain males who were called duchesses and could get pregnant? Then there would have to be females who could get their spouses pregnant… how would that work?”

In regards to this particular novel one of the things I love most about England’s history is that while people frowned on interracial relationships, they were never really illegal. So too, when it came to slavery, it didn’t really exist in England. There were plenty of noble gentlemen who were involved in the slave trade but they didn’t really have slavery. Actually having an African servant meant you were a person of great standing, and could afford to “purchase” and employ an African. There were many Africans who lived in the Lower East End and were barristers, blacksmiths, etc. So, knowing that I wanted to envision a pairing (or more) where someone who was part of the nobility married and had a child with an African male. What type of scandal would that cause? How would people react?

And because of the time frame the series is set in: 1811-1820, the Regency time period, there was also the added bonus of my being able to engage many of my characters in the tense, dangerous adventure of the Napoleonic Wars, which Orley is a wounded soldier of, and his friends all served in. So this book, this series gave me the chance to combine my love of writing history, with writing romance, and also paying homage to a community that isn’t often discussed or written about.

Is there a character you feel especially connected to? Why?

My assistant, Melissa, told me that Orley and I were the same. She said it’s because he’s possessive, loyal, strong, faithful, has endured hell but can still smile, he’s dominant, romantic, doesn’t care about crossing the lines that others have put out there because they don’t matter to him. I will say that of the characters I’ve written about so far, Orley is the one I connect with the most. Though I have a feeling that’s going to change later on in the series.

What was the hardest part of writing this?

The research is always the hardest part of writing a historical novel. Between that, the whole angst part of the story, and the fact that I wrote the book during NaNoWriMo, I was pretty stressed out, but I’m so happy that everything worked out in the end.

Choose a favorite line or short passage. What do you like about it?

He was wholly unprepared for the hearty chuckle that left the duke’s mouth or the way the man clapped before bowing before him. “Bravo, Lady Chester. I am glad you are not given to believe you are somehow less deserving of respect than I, just because I sleep in a certain room of the estate and you happen to clean it. I have said for decades that it was all a crock. Only to those who would find my words amenable, of course, and wouldn’t bluster at my upsetting what they think is their God-given birthright.”

Chester had a lot to process and ask about, or even to point out what was right and wrong about His Grace’s statement, but his brain had gotten stuck on one word in the duke’s entire diatribe. Lady. He called me a lady. Why, he is mad!

Chester shook his head. “Your Grace. I am no lady. I am just a maid. One whose mother is Tafrican.”

He dropped his gaze to the armchair he stood behind, taking in the dark green fabric and gold stitching. His erection was long gone. The skirt of his maid’s uniform now fell effortlessly over his groin, and Chester should have been relieved, but as he looked at his light brown, almond-colored skin, all he felt was an extreme disappointment. This was just another blight against his chance at happiness.

Had he actually been born a lady, perhaps he might have caught the duke’s eye at a ball, and they could have danced in each other’s arms. Maybe the duke would have courted Chester for a few months before asking his maldy for his hand in marriage? But, if his station wasn’t enough, he was also born half Tafrican. While many members of the gentry found him and his siblings quite exotic looking, often wanting them to come and work in their homes for aesthetic appeal, sneers and looks of disgust were tossed his way as well.

No. Whatever foolish notions his kiss with the duke had sprung from earlier that morning, they had to be dealt with and cast aside quickly. Those dreams led only to heartbreak, and Chester was quite sure he wasn’t strong enough to handle it.

He was startled by the soft touch of large fingers tilting his head up, and he found himself staring into the Duke’s pale blue gaze. The Duke of Whitcomb stood over a foot taller than Chester, and his broad-shouldered frame looked as if it could completely engulf Chester’s own slender one. He resisted the urge to press against the hard body in front of him as he stared into the duke’s eyes.

“You are more of a lady than most of the debutantes and women of the ton, Lady Chester. While you may not have been born into a genteel family, that does not mean that you do not deserve the title, nor the respect, because you should have both.” The duke’s voice was low. Sincere. It sent a flush of desire straight through Chester’s body, pooling in his groin and setting his heart into a pounding rhythm.

Without thought, he lifted onto his toes and pressed a kiss to the side of the duke’s lips, then stepped back. “Thank you… Orley.”

The duke bowed. “It was my greatest pleasure, Lady Chester.”

I love this passage because it’s here that Orley establishes the fact that he doesn’t see Chester the way that everyone else does. It’s where Chester realizes that he can have respect for himself, that he could dream, and dream big. This scene is the one where Chester decides to take a moment of happiness for himself with Orley, and this is where Orley shows that Chester is not wrong in desiring that, and that he would be receptive. For me, this is where Chester and Orley began loving each other. But that’s just for me, Orley and Chester don’t think so. LOL.

Tell us a little about any upcoming projects.

Well, there’s book 3 of this series: the Scandalous Whispers of the Remmington Realm, entitled: The Priceless Viscountess that follows a couple revealed at the end of this book (so I can’t share the blurb… sorry!). I’m also writing Happiness In All Sizes which is a novel with the main factors given to me from Kim Tyler who won the “Create your Own Story” contest by donating to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital. Then there is The Beta Prince, the sequel to The Alpha King, Washington, book 3 in The Sevion Brotherhood which follows the book Michigan which released with MLR. And a host of other books/stories. There are a few I’m really looking forward to writing: Whatever It Takes, Miracle on John Young Parkway, and the full versions of the stories I’ve written for the Goodreads M/M Romance Group’s Don’t Read In The Closet event. These are just a few of the books, not all of them. At last count my WIP list was 270+ between all of my pennames, though most of them are M/M Romance. Though I am looking forward to writing I Am Jack, a historical, horror novel.

What subjects would you never write about?

I don’t really like to say “never” because usually one of my characters pops up and says “Oh… by the way…” but I can safely say that I don’t ever see there being a time when I will write about someone with a scat fetish, someone who is into necrophilia (and having that be a positive thing-there for titillation), or bestiality. –shudders-

Are there topics or issues you wish were more common in books?

I think I wish interracial relationships were more common in books, as well as minority characters as the MCs. I wish there were more transgender/intersex/genderfluid/genderqueer MCs. I wish there were more stories where the characters or the storyline was unlike what someone would expect, that would cross lines. For example, where the minority character was the teacher, or the billionaire, and the Caucasian character was the one in need of help. Something that was outside of the box. Maybe one where mates weren’t found by smell but by some other way, and mates weren’t forever. I love reading stuff like that. I also wish BDSM books that come from the perspective of the Dom was more common.

What is one subject you would really like to tackle in a story?

Usually anything I want to tackle I do, or have plans to, but I’d really like to tackle the two star-cross’d lovers. Sort of a Romeo & Juliet type of story where it’s a HEA but not in the way people expect.

Word sprints!

Plotter or pantser? Both. I plot out the book, but my characters end up making me a pantser
Musical theater or rock concert? Musical theater. I LOVE Broadway and Tyler Perry plays.
What’s your favorite food? Lasagna. Homemade the correct way.
What’s the best vacation spot? Or if you can’t go that far: Boston.
What are you currently wearing? LOL. I’m not so sure I can or should answer that…