Lady of the Crescent Moon
Genre: Gothic Historical Romance
Publisher: Soul Mate Publishing, LLC
Date of Publication: September 19, 2018
Number of pages: 179
Word Count: 48,800
Cover Artist: Syneca Featherstone
Tagline: In darkness, only love can light the way.
An age of high baroque splendor and excess. An age of new enlightenments; the dawn of the new epoch amid the clutter of a dying era. An age of curses and magic. An age of superstition, witches, and witch hunts.
Sidonie Cordumont is not powerful enough to save her fellow witches, imprisoned in the secret dungeons of Paris. She returns to Normandy, the place of her birth, desperately seeking help to defeat the impossible foe intent on ridding the land of her brethren. Instead, she falls into the clutches of a man she never believed she’d see again. A man she’d once hoped to marry.
The last thing Roland, Marquis d’Ambroisin, expects is to have the woman he lost tumble into his arms in the dead of night, no better than a common thief. But once he’s caught her, he doesn’t want to let her go. Unfortunately, she’s on a reckless mission, and he’s helpless to do the one thing he wants above all—protect her.
Until a promise to his dying mother binds them together…
Book Trailer: https://youtu.be/8hCQXoPuLlw
Sidonie didn’t know she’d taken a step backward until there came a crunching sound from beneath the heavy soles of her worn boots. A shiver rattled down her spine. She wouldn’t dare take her gaze from the figure, not even to blink, but there was a dry quality to the sound. She didn’t need to look to know what she’d crushed.
It was an old bone.
Her back hit something solid and large hands closed gently around the tops of her arms. Roland’s smell made her heart leap. He’d safeguard her. All the protection she hadn’t thought she needed or wanted, she did. At least until she regained her equilibrium.
Slowly, as if he occupied a separate realm where time trickled instead of spun, the haunted man raised his head, his gaze focusing over her shoulder. The man . . . entity . . . Jacques . . . whatever he might have been, his voice was like sand. “Good day, Sidonie. We have been waiting for you.”
Her mouth went dry and panic pounded through her veins. It was too soon. She couldn’t die yet. “Waiting . . . for me?”
About the Author:
Ingrid Hahn is a failed administrative assistant with a B.A. in Art History.
Her love of reading has turned her mortgage payment into a book storage fee, which makes her the friend who you never want to ask you for help moving.
Originally from Seattle, she now lives in the metropolitan DC area with her ship-nerd husband, small son, and four opinionated cats. When she’s not reading or writing, she loves knitting, theater, nature walks, travel, history, and is a hopelessly devoted fan of Jane Austen.
She’d love to connect with her readers! Find her on Twitter as @Ingrid_Writer, on Instagram as ingrid_hahn, and on Facebook as Ingrid Hahn.
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