Hey, I’m Emily and I write and adore everything Regency romance!
From the north of England, I was born and bred on oodles of strong tea, Buffy the Vampire Slayer and historical fiction. I’ve been writing for eight years now and adore my furbabies, red wine and finding Regency images to make my readers swoon – of delicious romance, sumptuous dresses and perfect waistcoats!
However, even though I can happily write novels, I have a hard time writing about myself, so thought I would instead list some (hopefully) interesting facts about myself in a totally random order. ☺️
1. I own 2 dogs and 4 cats own me.
2. I truly am a Windsor - but not one of those with lots of royal money.
3. My home is a draughty old farmhouse with a leaky roof, which seemed a good idea at the time.
4. I used to be a junior planning engineer for civil construction. (Not that interesting but…)
5. Colin Firth in Pride & Prejudice was my student pin-up which probably explains a lot.
6. Having a Classics and History degree means I love poking around ancient Classical ruins.
7. I loathe household chores and will frequently pretend that scrolling Pinterest is more vital.
8. I was one of those young girls who would read under the duvet! Everything from Marion Chesney to Judith McNaught.
9. Research is every bit as necessary to me as the writing, and I can spend hours reading Botanical Magazines, looking up the Battle of Waterloo Roll Call and then watching You Tube videos on how to open an antique lock with a hairpin.
10. When I get the chance, I love visiting the Regency sites that still exist in London today, especially old pubs.
11. It took me ten glasses of wine to come up with the other nine facts about myself.
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Title A Governess Should Never… Tempt a Prizefighter (The Governess Chronicles Book 1)
Author Emily Windsor
Genre Regency Romance
Publisher Senara Press
Book Blurb
"So tell me, Miss Griffin, why should I employ you as governess?"
A question to rouse fear within the breast of any prospective governess but for Matilda, a lady without references, appropriate brown clothing or any experience with children whatsoever, doubly so.
But alone in the world except for a brutish guardian and a malodorous betrothed, Matilda must seek her own future, even if that means employment in the household of a rugged ex-prizefighter with sizeable muscles and doubtless minuscule intellect.
"Please continue to enlighten me, Miss Griffin."
Mr Seth Hawkins, owner of famed Boxing Academy, has reached the point of desperation in his search for a governess.
Yet with no other suitable candidates, could this yellow-clad, bespectacled female who seemed to think him a witless dolt with calloused knuckles and no books, teach his daughter the ways of a lady?
The Lady and the Prizefighter.
One should never judge a man by his well-defined muscles or a lady by her yellow-silk slippers, for beneath both façades lay shared dreams, yearning hearts and a taste for adventure.
With scandalous kisses in midnight carriages, tavern jaunts, whifflers, nobblers and dressing as a nefarious footpad on the prowl, the vocation of governess has never been so exciting...
Excerpt
Hawkins Boxing Academy. Outskirts of Piccadilly. May 1816.
“So tell me, Miss Griffin, why should I employ you as governess?”
Oh botheration.
And Matilda fidgeted in the unyielding chair.
The interview had been progressing quite satisfactorily until now. They’d greeted one another in a cordial manner, lamented the bitter spring weather and Mr Hawkins, her prospective employer and owner of this famed Boxing Academy, had shown her to his somewhat masculine study.
Chestnut panelling smothered the walls from floor to ceiling, a few drawings of sturdy ruffians in pugilistic stance embellishing its manliness. A battered chaise of dun leather sat in the corner whilst the desk gleamed with fresh wax.
Matilda’s lips parted to answer, but for once words failed her, so instead she contemplated a bird fluffing its wings upon the windowsill outside and ardently wished she could swap places.
Although perhaps not with a scrawny sparrow but rather a brightly coloured Bird of Paradise. To be far away on the tropical Molucca Islands and not shivering in this rugged study, being interviewed by a man who’d once been a prizefighter.
Males of the species could be so savage.
His cough prompted for attention and she returned her gaze to Mr Hawkins.
“It appears,” he said, flicking her application letter and hoisting an eyebrow, “that you have no previous experience.”
Matilda crossed her arms. How hard could it be?
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Author Biography
Emily grew up in the north of England on a diet of historical romance and strong tea.
Unfortunately, you couldn’t study Regency slang, so she did the next best thing and gained a degree in Classics and History instead. This ‘led’ to an eight-year stint in engineering.
Having left city life, she now lives in a dilapidated farmhouse where her days are spent writing, fixing the leaky roof, battling the endless vegetation and finding pictures of well-tied cravats.
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Title The Duke of Diamonds (A Lady to Suit. Book 1)
Author Emily Windsor
Genre Regency Romance
Publisher Senara Press
Book Blurb
In the coldest flint, there is fire...
Casper Brook, the eighth Duke of Rothwell, has forever spurned frivolous pleasures, his restless emotions remaining buried beneath duty and command.
Yet when a titian-haired minx perches upon his ducal desk and claims to know the whereabouts of his one burning obsession, a game of wits and passion erupts...
Fire ignites from a spark...
Miss Evelyn Pearce possesses naught but a frail young sister and an ebony-black cat. Left destitute by her baronet father's spendthrift ways, fate and talent hand her the opportunity to seek escape from the dangerous alleys of London town.
The cold Duke of Diamonds holds the key, and all Evelyn must do is resist his not-so-cold kiss...
A dance of flaming desire...
A passion forged on secrets can never be satisfied, but as guises fall and plots unravel, will the duke's controlled façade shatter to reveal his searching heart within?
Excerpt
Delicate yet spirited. Undeterred by life.
She embodied all he yearned for.
Casper trailed a solitary finger along the thin black ribbon caught in a tight bow at her nape and longed to lean close, to loosen it with a single nip of his teeth.
Tendrils of walnut-brown hair caressed her earlobe and he traced the curls, ached to feel such resplendence upon his bared skin.
The defiant beauty, however, refused to turn at his impudent touch, denying Casper her silken features. Instead, she merely presented him with a blushing cheekbone, glimpse of stubborn chin and naked shoulder held straight and bold.
Some labelled Casper cold and obsessive, tedious and brusque… Yet with this woman, he felt anything but. He burned, body consumed with want, flushed with pride and possession.
She belonged to him.
Yet if he were to be truthful, utter perfection remained out of reach. A pale, curved scar marred that exposed shoulder, skin cast sallow against the coils of darker hair, and her gown flamed a brash crimson lake.
It mattered not.
Duty to his estate, the burden of responsibility, suffering tenants, failing crops – all was soothed in her presence.
He willed that cheek to turn, to have her gaze upon him and whisper words of temptation. So reaching out once more, he grazed a thumb across the lace edge of that brazen frock as it rode low upon her back, revealing a contrary pure-white corset laced with lemon ribbon.
But naught. No female sigh nor sensual shudder.
Casper Brook, the eighth Duke of Rothwell, murmured a derisive laugh, twisted from her, snuffed out the candle and with quiet tread, strode from his study.
Leaving the exquisite portrait in darkness.
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Title Let Sleeping Dukes Lie (The Rules of the Rogue Book 3)
Author Emily Windsor
Genre Regency Romance
Publisher Senara Press
Book Blurb
"Strait-laced. Ruthless. Arrogant."
Alexander Westhide, the Duke of Rakecombe has no quarrel with such faint praise as he has forever shunned marriage, women and anything remotely resembling love. Indeed, the damning words merely serve to enhance his haughty façade. But beneath the controlled demeanour lies a duke beset by tragedy, a man turbulent and restless.
"Forthright. Impudent... Capricious saucebox."
Miss Aideen Quinlan can't quite explain why she feels the need to taunt, tease and generally annoy the Duke of Rakecombe. Maybe it was for the heart-racing spar of words that always ensued, or maybe it was to see the duke's broad fist clench on his ebony cane, green eyes glittering.Or maybe it was because she was unable to erase the memory of his vehement kiss...
An unlikely couple.
Torn between his world of espionage and this unquenchable passion, the duke still refuses to lower his fierce defences. If Aideen is to capture her resistant duke's troubled heart, it is she who must follow the Rules of the Rogue.
Resistance is futile...US & UK No. 1 bestseller in Regency romance...
Sensual historical romance with warmth and wit, this story also includes unpalatable chefs, a darling of the Season with a secondary love story, deadly walking canes and sheep...
Excerpt
The moon cast its opalescent glow upon them, as though it had decided a little romantic lustre was necessary, and Aideen groaned at the unfairness of her perfect memory as the Duke of Rakecombe’s face became real.
She had hoped his eyes couldn’t possibly be as intense as she recollected, or that he wasn’t so forbiddingly tall. But needless to say, he was. All that and more, the damn English bug.
If she had to quibble, she would say his nose was a fraction overlong and possibly too thin, slightly hawkish, but sensuous lips, moulded cheekbones and lush lashes more than made up for any nostril disadvantage. Besides, she liked the way they flared with a brisk inhalation when he disapproved of something – mainly her.
She shivered, and it wasn’t through fear.
“Did you enjoy the young pup’s attentions, Miss Quinlan?”
“Er…”
The Duke of Rakecombe stepped forward, jet-black cloak swirling about him. She wasn’t entirely sure how to answer, or in point of fact, why he had asked at all. But then, they never seemed able to have a normal conversation. He always riled with mocking words, and with her temper, she responded with blunt antagonism.
“Do you desire his callow touch?” he pressed again.
Aideen gulped as the ominous figure circled her, cane drumming on the stone, demanding an answer. She didn’t turn. Didn’t so much as move a muscle.
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