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The Gentlemen Quartet series

Four gentlemen, friends since school, formed a popular concert group referred to as The Quartet by London society. War separated them, but now they each find love and healing in Regency England.


Click here for blog post extras about the Gentlemen Quartet series.

What's up with the Gentlemen?

I wrote Prelude for a Lord, the first book in my Gentlemen Quartet series, in the same year that I wrote The Spinster's Christmas, the prequel book to my Lady Wynwood's Spies series.

Since then, I've been working on the next Lady Wynwood's Spies series books, but I do intend to go back to the Gentlemen Quartet and continue writing books for that series. If you belong to my email newsletter, you'll be sure to hear when the next book (Lady Wynwood or Gentlemen Quartet) is available.

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“I didn’t tell you about this summer.” Bayard’s sister, Clare, would kill Bayard for revealing this, but he depended upon his friends to help protect her.

“Do tell.” Ian grinned, his dimples peeking out from cheeks showing a golden brown shadow.

“The squire’s younger son—a nasty piece of work, the kind to pull legs off of frogs for a spot of fun—tried to force himself upon Clare in an empty stable.”

Ravenhurst’s icy blue eyes glittered. “Did he, now?”

“The idiot also confessed he wanted to ruin her so she’d be forced to marry him.” Bayard’s knuckles ached, and he looked down, realizing he’d clenched his hands into fists.

“Please tell me your resourceful sister did not stand for such treatment,” Ian said.

“She remembered what David taught her and hit the boy in the throat with her closed fist. She then ran out.”

“That’s my girl.” Ian grinned.

Raven sighed. “I will never again complain about David teaching your sister those fighting tricks.”

“It was so she could hold her own against the village bullies. I was surprised she remembered after all these years.”

“Bullies, suitors. Same class of chaps, don’t you think?” A lock of straight blond-streaked brown hair had fallen over Ian’s eyes, and he swiped it away impatiently.

— Excerpt from Prelude for a Lord by Camille Elliot