Friday, September 6, 2013

VBT - By Love's Honor Bound by Patricia Bond with Interview

By Love's Honor Bound by Patricia Bond
Genre:  Historical Romance
Categories: Action/Adventure, Mystery/Thriller
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing
Release Date: July 17, 2013
Heat Level: Steamy
Word Count: 98,000

Available at:



Someone is killing Conductors on the Underground Railroad one by one. With a cellar full of runaway slaves, Olivia June Mathieson must decide - is the handsome Fenton Pierce-Smythe savior or traitor?

Both Fenton Pierce-Smythe’s fiancee and grandfather were killed when runaway slaves spooked their horses. Determined no one else will face that pain, he hunts runaways to return them safely to their owners. But can he remain unmoved by their plight? And unaffected by the beautiful woman who risks her life to lead them to freedom?



God, it was awful.

The whiskey was bad enough, and the stench of sour ale, unwashed bodies, and horse hung in the air like a sail in a calm, but this caterwauling could bring a strong man to his knees.

The girl was pretty, Fenton acknowledged. Remarkably so. She had blond ringlets, brown eyes, and a pair of delicate rosy lips pursed in an invitingly kissable shape. But, the noise coming from them was enough to make one wish for a fence full of toms serenading their lady love.

He closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair, praying for the singing to stop. Fenton Pierce-Smythe considered himself a patient man, unflappable and usually tolerant of his fellow man. Truly, though, this was testing even his limits.

Temperance songs were far from popular fare. Especially in taverns. Reactions ranged from drunken jeers and catcalls to being ignored. Fenton admired her courage though, both for her attempt to redeem the souls of his fellow patrons, and for her actually singing with that voice. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he had the guts to put his fingers in his ears instead. 

The singing came to an end, praise God. He opened his eyes to see the object of his fantasies heading his way with a coffeepot. As she approached, the color of her eyes became clearer, a deep, rich brown capable of drowning a man as surely as sable invited one’s touch. Many souls had been lost for less. He watched her serve coffee at the next table. Then she was right there, standing by his table. 

“Save your soul, sir, and give up the devil’s libation.”

He raised a brow and looked from his glass to her face, then slowly smiled. “Only if you’ll stay with me and keep me from temptation.”

Her blush charmed him. “I-I c-can’t. I must try to save all of you.” Her gaze flitted around the room, unable to land on any one place before returning to his face. 

“Most of these poor sods could care less about saving their souls,” he said. “As soon as you leave, the whiskey will flow freely again. Wouldn’t you rather know you’ve saved one soul, than try to redeem many and fail?”

She stood there, speechless, which was a pity, for however horrendous her singing was, she spoke with a voice smooth and deep as velvet.

“Join me?” he asked, rising halfway and pulling a chair out from the table. 

“I can’t,” she repeated. “Please, take some coffee instead.” She reached behind her for a chipped cup from a tray her companion held, and then took a step forward. Her foot hooked on the leg of the chair he had been bringing out for her, and she lurched forward. As she tried to catch herself on the back of the chair, the hand holding the coffeepot drooped down, pouring the hot liquid directly onto his lap and thigh. 

Fenton yelped and jumped up as the coffee ran over him. His eyes cleared from the mist of pain in time for him to see the horror on her face. She looked as if she were about to cry. “I’m sorry,” he heard himself say, and wondered why he was apologizing. It was his manhood and parental possibilities that were at risk here. 

From habit, his hand moved to his pocket for a handkerchief instead of reaching for the kerchief tied around his neck. He was immediately grateful he remembered to leave his monogrammed handkerchief at home. Plucking at the cloth of his rough trousers, he tried to get the warm fabric away from his skin. She was still staring at him, and despite his discomfort, he found himself thinking about the feel of her soft lips on his. Her chin trembled, ending his reverie. 

“I’m all right,” he assured her, even though his thigh still hurt like hell, and the rest of him . . . 

Her eyes sparkled though her smile was watery. “Are you sure?” she asked.

Well . . . “Truly.” He nodded. What the hell? He didn’t want to make her feel too guilty. He doubted he was permanently impaired.

“I’m so glad,” she said in a rush. “I really thought I had hurt you. Would you like some coffee?” She brandished the pot in his general direction. He quickly side-stepped away from her.

“I think I’ve had all I care for, tonight. Thank you just the same.” He restrained himself from grabbing the pot from her hand before she could come close again.

“You’re not from around here,” she stated, studying him. “Not many sailors come this far away from the Potomac. What are you doing here?”

Ah, well. Yes, what was he doing here? Looking for someone who was running slaves to the north, that’s what, but it was decidedly unhealthy to make that kind of information available. Still, perhaps the girl might know someone. “I was told there was a captain here, looking for crewmen. I hoped I could find him, and sign on.”

Not bad as lies went. In truth, he was looking for a captain, and had been told that one of the “conductors” codenames was Captain. He watched her face intently. Her tears threatened to fall and he handed her the kerchief he’d used to wipe his leg. 

Olivia June Mathieson, Livvy to her friends, took the proffered cloth, acutely aware of the paper in her pocket. The note from Dragonslayer was very specific. Was this man the Marauder? He’d given Jedidiah’s codename, but not the password she’d expected. 

About the Author:

Ever since her first encounter with a long hooped skirt gown at age 5, Ms. Bond fell in love with the style. Her love of historical romance began a bit later, when she discovered Gladys Malvern’s books and scoured the public library for every one she could find. Reading Gone With the Wind as a teenager cemented her suspicion that she was born about 100 years too late. She daydreamed about writing novels but knew it was beyond her ability at that time.  Instead, she tried her hand at poetry and really bad iambic pentameter flowed from her fingers. Thankfully, for the world at large, it was a short-lived obsession.

After attending an all-girl high school run by Felician nuns, she enrolled in a local men’s college that had just opened its doors to women. (A Libra, she understands the need for balance.) She earned her B.A. in English, and met her future husband there.  Many years, four children and a grandchild later, the man who made her see fireworks with the first kiss is still her go-to research assistant for all things romantic.

The desire to write books never left, even as she worked selling property and casualty insurance, Avon, and craft kits. She sold luggage at a local department store to earn the money to attend her first RWA national conference and finally feels safe enough to admit to hiding a legal pad under her counter where she wrote scenes in between customers. She still does much of her writing longhand. (100 years too late, remember?)

RWA is the best thing to happen to her writing career, teaching the art as well as the craft of writing. It also brought her together with four of the most amazing women she’s ever known - critique partners and friends.  Special thanks and much love to Helen, Karen, Carol and Jan. An amateur photographer, Reiki master and Guild knitter, Ms. Bonds lives in Western New York one mile from the home she grew up in. You can often find her at the lakeside, camera and notebook in hand. 

Connect with Patricia Bond


1)      First, tell us about yourself – where  you live, your family, and those sorts of details.

I’m married for 38 yrs to the best romance research assistant a writer could have. We live in Western New York, not far from the shores of Lake Erie. Our four children all also live in the area.

2)      How long have you been writing?

I think since I’ve been born – almost certainly since I could hold a pencil. It’s something I always wanted to do, but I didn’t know what to write.  I tried mysteries, but couldn’t plot an escape route from a 3-sided phone booth (you have to be a certain age to remember those).  I also tried poetry, with little success.  It was while my mom was in the ICU that my sister gave me a historical romance to pass the time at the hospital. I devoured it. Later, the books helped me through the grief process and after a while, I began to think “I can do this.”  Hard on the heels of that thought came a feeling of “coming home.”  It just felt that romance was where I belonged.

3)      Do you have a favorite place to write?

I’d love to say I have a room overlooking the lake.  Sad to say, I work in my home office, but every once in a while, I grab a notebook and sit by the lake writing and watching the sunset.  Admittedly, it’s more watching the sunset than writing, but if you’re willing to buy that, I’ll put it out there.

4)      Why did you decide to write “By Love’s Honor Bound”?

That kind of just fell together early on. The whole Western New York area was very active in the Underground Railroad.  There are many historic places all over that were way-stations for it.  It was a natural, given how close we are to Canada.  In many areas, it’s only a short boat ride – or even a swim – across the Niagara River or Lake Erie or Lake Ontario.  A very famous author once said she gets ideas for books by giving the main characters opposing occupations.  You can’t get more opposing than a conductor and a bounty hunter.  So the situation came easy, but it took a while for Livvy and Fenton to introduce themselves to me.  They actually showed up as secondary characters in a different book, and as soon as I met them, I knew I had my conductor and hunter. They were like little kids constantly tugging at my sleeve, asking, “Is it our turn, yet?”

5)      Who is your favorite character in your book and why?

Fenton, of course.  He’s such a guy, and Livvy sometimes plays him expertly, even after she falls in love with him.  But that’s the whole thing – if I haven’t fallen in love with my hero, how can I expect my reader to?  And the reader has to, or I haven’t done my job. He was just fun to create – a take-charge kind of guy with a soft heart.  He does the wrong things all for the sake of his grandmother – how can you not love that?  I will confess, though, that Fenton’s crew were a hoot to write, too.

6)      How about your least favorite character?  What makes them less appealing to you?

The villain is by far the least favorite – I don’t want to give the name, so I don’t spoil the story for anyone, but the villain is a murderer with no conscience, cruel and enjoys the pain he causes.
7)      Do you proofread/edit your own books or do you get someone to do that for you?

I don’t hire out the job if that’s what you’re asking.  I have a critique group that I’ve been working with for years, now.  Good friends and amazing writers, we’ve seen each other through so much of the ups and downs of this crazy business.  When we critique, we do a pretty thorough job, working on the story itself, the characters and also line editing as we go along.  But I don’t expect them to catch all my goofs, good as they are.  It’s my book and in the end, editing and proofing are my responsibility.

8)      What do you like to do when you’re not writing?

Read.  Any writer, I think, starts out as an avid reader.  Besides that, I belong to our Knitter’s Guild, I’m an amateur photographer and a Reiki Master.  One of these days I’d love to learn to paint. I’ve tried. We won’t talk about that – it wasn’t pretty. My daughter, in an effort to comfort me when she saw my attempt, told me it was ok – I paint pictures with words instead.  It was one of the sweetest things anyone ever said.

9)      Do you read much and if so who are your favorite authors?

See above.   So, how much space will you give me for my list?  I started out with Shirlee Busbee, Jennifer Blake, Rebecca Brandywine – they’re still favorites. Then there’s Nora, Jayne Ann Krentz in all her personae, Eloisa James, Julia Quinn, May Jo Putney, Stephanie Laurens, Jo Beverly, Mary Balogh – I buy anything these women write. When I’m looking for something a little different, I’ll read Steve Barry, Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child, Elizabeth Lowell, Maeve Binchy, Elizabeth Adler . . .  how much space do I have? I recently discovered Rhys Bowen and am really enjoying reading that early 20th century  setting.

10)   What question do you wish that someone would ask about your book, but nobody has? Write it out here, then answer it.

Who was the biggest influence while writing the book?

My best friend, Chris. I dedicated the book to her.  Over all the years, from high school on, she always told me she knew I would be published some day.  Even when I lost all faith in myself, she never lost faith and would never let me wallow for long. She proved a valuable sounding board for all my different story ideas. Mostly though, she gave me lessons in perseverance. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer, she refused to give up, kept setting goals for herself – gotta live to see the son graduate high school, then her daughter graduate, then college, etc. etc.  There was always something to live for and not let the cancer win. How could I possibly give up trying to write in the face of that?  She taught me to never give up my dreams, no matter what the obstacle. As I wrote in the dedication, I wish with all my heart that she was physically here to celebrate with me.  We’ll just have to celebrate later.`

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