Traded. She had been traded by her own captain to the Alliance Empire. She and the rest of the female crew from the human starship Dakota were to be married off, as the Alliance was suffering from a demographics issue, there weren't enough Alliance women. Dru didn't care what kind of problems the Alliance had, she didn't come this far, in her short life, to end up as a grey, alien man's slave, no matter how powerful his civilization was. But that was the problem, humans were next to nothing and the Alliance Empire ruled the galaxy. Ket of Imperial House Vo had not thought much about the human women being brought to the Alliance, until his eyes rested on the young red-haired beauty and he knew it was the gods' will that she become his wife. He would make her submit to his strict Alliance culture and make her humbly accept her new life in the Empire. He knew from the moment he saw her picture that she was his destiny. The Alliance Series is set in a fictional future where humans are small-time players in the big-time galaxy. There are no heroes or women being rescued, instead readers are led through an intricate maze of alien courting customs, duplicitous strict religious codes, vicious culture shock and uncomfortable compromises. Each book follows a completely different woman on her individual journey through this alien world, as such they can all be read as stand-alone books.

Being kidnapped by aliens is only the start of Jade's problems... Thankfully, her rescuers, an alien race known as the Clecanians, are willing to protect her, but she has to stay on their planet for one year and respect the rules of their culture-including choosing a husband. Jade refuses at first but decides to play along until she can find a way back to Earth. Theo, a scarred mercenary who prefers a life of solitude, is stunned when Jade selects him as her husband. After years of being passed over, he never imagined he would be chosen and neither did anyone else. Only one explanation makes sense...the curvy enticing female must be a spy, and Theo's determined to break her cover using any means necessary. As Jade and Theo are forced to spend time together, their chemistry becomes undeniable. But neither can afford to bring love into the equation, especially since Jade seems determined to go home. After all, she can't possibly stay here, right?

There were two surgeons in the little town of Graybridge-on-the-Wayverne, in pretty pastoral Midlandshire,—Mr. Pawlkatt, who lived in a big, new, brazen-faced house in the middle of the queer old High Street; and John Gilbert, the parish doctor, who lived in his own house on the outskirts of Graybridge, and worked very hard for a smaller income than that which the stylish Mr. Pawlkatt derived from his aristocratic patients. John Gilbert was an elderly man, with a young son. He had married late in life, and his wife had died very soon after the birth of this son. It was for this reason, most likely, that the surgeon loved his child as children are rarely loved by their fathers—with an earnest, over-anxious devotion, which from the very first had been something womanly in its character, and which grew with the child's growth. Mr. Gilbert's mind was narrowed by the circle in which he lived. He had inherited his own patients and the parish patients from his father, who had been a surgeon before him, and who had lived in the same house, with the same red lamp over the little old-fashioned surgery-door, for eight-and-forty years, and had died, leaving the house, the practice, and the red lamp to his son. If John Gilbert's only child had possessed the capacity of a Newton or the aspirations of a Napoleon, the surgeon would nevertheless have shut him up in the surgery to compound aloes and conserve of roses, tincture of rhubarb and essence of peppermint. Luckily for the boy, he was only a common-place lad, with a good-looking, rosy face; clear grey eyes, which stared at you frankly; and a thick stubble of brown hair, parted in the middle and waving from the roots. He was tall, straight, and muscular; a good runner, a first-rate cricketer, tolerably skilful with a pair of boxing-gloves or single-sticks, and a decent shot. He wrote a fair business-like hand, was an excellent arithmetician, remembered a smattering of Latin, a random line here and there from those Roman poets and philosophers whose writings had been his torment at a certain classical and commercial academy at Wareham. He spoke and wrote tolerable English, had read Shakespeare and Sir Walter Scott, and infinitely preferred the latter, though he made a point of skipping the first few chapters of the great novelist's fictions in order to get at once to the action of the story. He was a very good young man, went to church two or three times on a Sunday, and would on no account have broken any one of the Ten Commandments on the painted tablets above the altar by so much as a thought. He was very good; and, above all, he was very good-looking. No one had ever disputed this fact: George Gilbert was eminently good-looking. No one had ever gone so far as to call him handsome; no one had ever presumed to designate him plain. He had those homely, healthy good looks which the novelist or poet in search of a hero would recoil from with actual horror, and which the practical mind involuntarily associates with tenant-farming in a small way, or the sale of butcher's meat.

Isabel Sleaford is a young woman who fantasies about the books she reads and sees life through the eyes of Bryon and Shelley. She catches the eye of George Gilbert, the young handsome doctor, who notices how Isabel is different from other ladies he knows and falls in love with her. Although they are not the perfect match, him being pragmatic and her being a dreamer, the marriage is concluded. The ill-matched pair soon meets the trouble in paradise which comes up from the inconsistency in their expectations from life. While the doctor is busy with his patients, Isabel becomes bored and lonely. When she meets a dashing poet by the name of Roland Lansdell it brings excitement to her life.