Friday, September 9, 2016

Character Interview: Morgan D'Arcy from A Vampyre Rhapsody by Linda Nightingale

Where are you from? I was born in 1632 in Devon, England, only son of the Earl of St. Averil and his Lady Ilsabeth.  My father, who died fighting with Charles I, at the Battle of Naseby, was the second Earl.  I am the third and last.
Did you have a happy childhood? I had a happy childhood until I was ripped up from the red Devon soil and transported to Court as a Royal Page to Prince Charles Stuart.  After the adjustment of a shy young country lord, I enjoyed my duties.  Charles and I became friends.  His life, too, changed radically when his father was beheaded by Cromwell at Whitehall one cold January morning.
Where do you live now and what do you do for a living?  I have a Mews house in Belgravia, London, and the ancestral home, Royal Oaks, in Devon.  I recently purchased a house on the Battery in Charleston.  My mortal love lives in that port city in South Carolina.
Is there something you'd rather be doing?  Actually no.  I do pretty much as I please…and damn the torpedoes.  Well, yes, actually, I’d rather be Isabeau’s husband, but I would continue being a concert pianist.  I’m addicted to the thrill when my audience experiences my rapport with the piano.
What's going on in your life right now?  I’m in Charleston waiting.  Soon, very soon, Isabeau will meet her destiny.  She is my reason for living.
Is there someone special in your life?  (He smiles) I think I answered that.  Her name is Isabeau Gervase. She’s a beautiful, brilliant geneticist—and there’s a reason she chose that profession.  I’ll refrain from divulging plot secrets (Sinner’s Opera).  Linda might erase me from her computer’s memory.
How did you meet? I’ll arrange our meeting…when it is time.  There have been other women in my life.  Rhapsody is a stroll through those days.
What's his/her family like?  Isabeau is an only child as well.  Her father died, and she has only her mother, living in Beaufort where Isabeau was born.
What's keeping you two apart?  Time and Vampyre law.  The latter doesn’t mean a tinker’s damn.  I’ll find a way to extricate myself from that sticky wicket.  (He laughs)
What one thing could you do that would make you feel like the relationship will work out?  I’d marry Isabeau now, but it’s not our time…yet.
Any last comments?   I may sound like I’m obsessed with Isabeau.  I am.  I wasn’t always so focused.  Morgan D’Arcy: A Vampyre Rhapsody chronicles my romantic adventures, some before, some after Isabeau became my dream.  Please join me in these recollections.  Thank you, Sharon, for having me as your guest today on RELEASE DAY for Rhapsody.  Where’s the champers?

The greatest enemy of a vampire is boredom. Four centuries of existence have taught Lord Morgan Gabriel D'Arcy to fear nothing and no one. Humans and their weapons have little chance against his preternatural speed and arcane powers. Vampires are viral mutations of human DNA. Still, the Vampyre code requires secrecy, and he has learned to hide his nature from the world. The lure of mortality, of a life in the sun, puts Morgan again and again at the mercy of calculating human women though they fail to consider his charm and determination into the equation. However, even grooming a future bride from infancy proves to be fraught with heartbreak. And second chances are not always what they seem unless... you are Morgan. Immortality and beauty, aren’t they grand?

“…Morgan…is a tour de force of egotism, wit, sensuality, and talent…” ~Author Toni V. Sweeney
“Morgan D’Arcy is a class act and the most arresting vampire I’ve ever encountered in literature or films.” ~ Historical and Paranormal Romance Author Beth Trissel


“Lord D’Arcy?”  A stunning redhead rested a graceful hand on the chair across the table.

I nodded, drinking in her beauty and the tempting fragrance of her blood.  The lines of her dark green dress emphasized her small waist.  The taffeta and velvet gown was elegant and stylish but probably modest in price.  Mischief sparkled in mesmerizing eyes of the palest blue.  I wished that this vision had appeared another time and place.  My intent was to greet and woo a brilliant scientist.  Soon, Dr. Wolfe would arrive.  For that meeting, I must be alone.  I rose, offering a slight bow.   Skirts swishing, she wafted near enough for me to touch.

“My name is Morgan.”  I brushed her gloved fingers to my lips.

She grinned, her enchanting eyes crinkling at the corners.  “I’m Amber Wolfe.”

Shock bled the color from my face.  “Dr. Wolfe?”

My astonishing guest fought a smile, lost the battle and laughed.  Her laughter was deep-throated, foggy, promising hidden delights to all six of my senses.  “It is evident no one saw fit to inform you that Dr. A. Wolfe is, in fact, Dr. Amber Wolfe... a woman.”
“I apologize for staring.  If I appeared rude, I am somewhat stunned.”  I hurried to hold her chair.

She sat very straight, her posture perfect.  “Thank you.”

I signaled for the waiter to pour her wine.  “I hope you like Cotes du Rhone.”

“Adore it.”   When she turned her head, studying the surroundings, a garnet brooch winked in the ambient light.  “In fact, I have always wanted to dine here.  The candlelight.  The rose on the table.  Very…”  She lowered her head, gazing at me through her curling lashes.  “Romantic.”

Dr. Wolfe, with her pale blue eyes, was flirting with me!  An accent I didn’t recognize tinted her voice deliciously sensual.  My sleeping libido stirred.  The redhead, and her intellect, fascinated me.  Grief evaporated in the heat of her gaze.  How could I have forgotten that there would always be another interesting woman around the next bend in the road?
“Wolfe isn’t a French name.” I pretended to peruse the leather-bound menu.

“My father was American.  He was a wine broker, traveling often to France.  He and my mother met on a holiday.  He lost his heart on the Riviera.  A month after he returned home, she followed him to America.  I grew up in Charleston, South Carolina, but came back to France to study at the Institut.”   She laughed again, musical and rich as her dusky voice.  “My mother was horrified I wanted to be a scientist.  She said it was a social outrage.  Father was proud of me.”

“From what I’ve heard of you, Dr. Wolfe, he has reason to be very proud.”  I wanted to hear her laugh again…all night long.

The waiter hesitated at my elbow, and in French said, “My Lord, may I take your order?”

My French mother had taught me her native tongue.  I was fluent in the language, my accent a mixture of Bretagne and British.  I deferred to my companion, delighted when she requested lobster bisque as a starter and an entrée of steak au poivre.   Women shouldn’t eat like birds, and I preferred expensive women.  Amber Wolfe gave every indication of being costly.
Once I’d ordered food I couldn’t eat, the waiter withdrew, leaving us alone in the static field of attraction crackling between us.  Two strangers, we sat smiling and gazing into each other’s eyes.

“I didn’t expect to be greeted by an English lord when I applied for the Andorra position.”  She swirled the red wine in her glass.  “I must say I am more than intrigued.  If my situation at the Institut were such that I could volunteer my services…”

“I’m quite willing to pay.”  I nodded to the Sommelier.  “Pour, please.”

He delivered a new glass, filling it with a wine to compliment the starter.  I wished I could taste the white Bordeaux, but I’d be violently ill.  With my fresh glass, I saluted my savior.  Some god somewhere had answered my prayer.  She gave me a stunning smile, raising her wine stem in acknowledgment.

I returned my untouched beverage to the table.  “I have a few questions, if I may.”

She inclined her head, the mellow light caressing her glossy auburn hair.  Amusement twinkled in her eyes.  Dr. Wolfe was fully aware she had ambushed me, gaining the temporary advantage.

“I’m sure you know this is a dangerous adventure.  Of greater importance, to me, you must keep everything you learn in the strictest confidence.”

She frowned.  “The Institut is, of course, interested in the Andorran tragedy. I’d thought to use my findings in my work.”

“That’s quite impossible.”

“Why does an English nobleman wish to research anthrax?”  She sipped her wine, never breaking eye contact.  “As you say, the mission is perilous.”

“That, and other revelations, will come in time.   If you commit to the position, you will be required to sign a confidentiality agreement.”

Amber shouldered back in her chair, crossed her arms, and stared into the distance.  I studied the emotions flitting across her face.  She was more than interested but not thrilled with the need for secrecy.  The whisper of conversation and clink of silverware on china intruded on the sudden quiet as my companion considered the demands of the job.  Her pupils dilated, darkening her eyes.  Deep in thought, she was truly lovely.
She roused, tossing me a coquettish glance.  “You had no idea I’d be a woman, and I didn’t dream my employer would be so handsome, Lord D’Arcy.”

“Thank you, and call me Morgan.”

“Did someone you love perish in the epidemic?"

I laughed.  “You’re fishing, Doctor.  Not someone I loved, but, yes, I knew a few of the victims.”

Her upper body inclined toward me.  I’d won our battle of wits and of the sexes.

“I accept,” she said.

Born in South Carolina, Linda Nightingale has lived in England, Canada, Miami, Ft. Lauderdale, Atlanta and Houston.  She’s seen a lot of this country from the windshield of a truck pulling a horse trailer, having bred, trained and showed Andalusian horses for many years.

Linda won several writing awards, including the Georgia Romance Writers Magnolia Award and the SARA.  She has two wonderful sons, is a retired legal assistant, member of the Houston Symphony League, and enjoys events with her car club (in her snazzy convertible).  She owns a piano she can’t play without the remote (it has a player system).  She loves to dress up and host formal dinner parties.

Twitter: - @Lnightingale
Web Site: – Visit and look around. There’s a free continuing vampire story.
Blog: - Lots of interesting guests & prizes

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