I shouldn’t say I almost forgot to post today, but I did. Between Nanowrimo and company in for the holiday, I’ve been in a fog. Additionally, my muse has taken this story in directions I didn’t expect. So today, you have a choice, you can post an excerpt from your WIP, preferably one you are working on for Nano that surprised you, or any holiday excerpt from your work or another that you like.
Here is mine from the tentatively titled Lord Merton’s Suitable Bride. Lord Merton (Dominic) has a reputation as being a prig. Against his better judgment he took in a child thief his betrothed, Miss Dorothea Stern rescued. They know the child’s mother is dead, but Dorothea finally got him to tell her who he is. This excerpt is a rough first draft.
Dom raised his eyes from the documents he’d been reviewing when Thea entered his study followed by his mother. He rose until they’d taken their seats on two chairs facing his desk. He was glad to see the two of them getting along so well.
He smiled, then noticed neither of them seemed particularly happy. Could it be the house, or God forbid, Mrs. Sorley. “Is anything wrong?”
Thea slid a small piece of paper across the desk. “Tom finally told me who he is. I’d planned to go directly his family’s rooms on St. George Street, but your mother convinced me to discuss it with you first.” Her voice hitched in anger. “I shall confront Mrs. White.”
Dom put down his pen. “The landlady?”
Thea’s lips formed a thin line. “The very one. I surmise she sold Tom to the blackguards who were teaching him to steal.”
Leaning back in the tufted leather chair, Dom tried to catch up with her. Whatever the boy had said obviously overwrought Thea’s sensibilities. “Start from the beginning and tell me what you know.”
It’s all on the paper. Mrs. Sorley was correct, he is gently bred.”
“If that is the case, we need to find his family.”
Thea rubbed her temples and shook her head. “What I do not understand is why the stupid woman didn’t contact the Earl of Stratton.”
Glancing back and forth between his mother and Thea, Dom interpolated, “Stratton?”
As if he hadn’t spoken, she continued, “Surely he would have paid her more than those blackguards.”
“I’m not sure, my dear,” Mama responded, “the earl a hard man. What if his son had married a woman of which he did not approve?”
“But to take it out on a child?” Thea clenched her small hands into fists. “That is criminal!”
Dom ran a hand over his face. What the devil were they talking about? “Would one of you please tell me what the Earl of Stratton has to do with Tom?”
Thea glanced at him with wide eyes as if Dom should know. “He is Tom’s grandfather, of course.”
“Damnation!”
“Dominic! You will not use that language in front of either me or Dorothea.”
He growled and grabbed the slip of paper from his desk. “Yes, Ma’am.”
James Cavanaugh and Sophia Cummings. He shook his head. Tom’s father was likely several years older than Dom and the only person he could think of to ask about it was Worthington. Damn.
“We could approach the earl first,” Thea said.
“I don’t know, my dear,” his mother responded. “Better to discover if there is any bad blood between them first. Oh, why have I spent so much time immured in the country and at Bath?” She stood. “Let us see this Mrs. White, though I’ll own myself surprised if that is her real name.”
Thea rose as well. What did they think they were doing? Hadn’t they come to him for advice?
“Dominic, I shall take Dorothea home after we visit St. George Street.”
Apparently not. Had all the women in his life gone mad? Well, he probably should have known Thea would go and confront the woman, but Mama?
His mother smiled as she was doing nothing more than paying a social call. Oh, hell. He’d sort them out later.
“Wait a minute. I’m going with you.” He jerked on the bell pull and a footman’s head popped in. “Get the town coach, immediately.”
Wonderful excerpt Ella. I always enjoy the way you do such lovely characterization of your characters, and how real they feel when I read these excerpts!
Here’s an excerpt from an erotic Christmas novella “Silent Night” that I am working on. It’s about a young woman named Zoey who gets attacked a week before Christmas, and two very sexy Irish vampires Ian and Connor rescue her and fall in love with her.
So hungry. God, I’d kill to eat.
Zoey Blake gazed longingly through the diner window. Families were nestled snug in red leather booths, plates of burgers and fries spread out like a feast. The cheery light from the diner’s interior beckoned to her, promising warmth and comfort. It was everything she needed, and nothing she could ever have. The bitter December wind cut through her thin plaid flannel shirt, harsh and cruel. It whipped her hair hard enough to sting her face. Hunger swelled up in her stomach, filling like an empty balloon that pressed against her throat, until she was nearly strangled with it. A moan escaped her lips, as she tried to ignore the pain and failed.
A little boy sitting next to his mother in one of the booths reached with chubby hands to grab his mother’s milkshake. His small mouth captured the straw and he sucked for a long moment before pulling back and grinning in delight. Zoey could only imagine how good it tasted, the thick creamy chocolate ice cream and the sweet tangy taste of a maraschino cherry.
One of the cooks left his post at the grill and walked towards the door, wiping his hands on his greasy apron. When the diner door swung open, Christmas music exploded into the silent night around her. Zoey blinked in surprise, the happy sounds of the music reminding her again that Christmas was only a few weeks away. She used to love Christmas, the songs, the presents, the food…her family. She shuddered and buried the painful memories back down into the darkest secret part of her heart.
The cook glanced about the darkened empty street outside the diner and caught sight of her.
“You coming in, girl?” His gruff voice and the anchor tattoo surrounded by rope that wound fiercely up his arm made her wonder if was a retired marine.
Zoey gulped and drew an instinctive step back. “Sorry, I can’t afford it.” Even after a year of living on the streets, shame still heated her cheeks. This time she welcomed the rise in her body temperature. She was so cold, all the time, even in the summer. Her only jacket had been stolen the winter before.
The cook’s eyes hardened slightly. “Then off with you. We don’t want the likes of you scaring off paying customers.”
Of course she had to leave. Heaven forbid he toss her some of the burnt burgers or even moldy hamburger buns. She’d have gladly taken them. Far worse food had ended up in her stomach when she’d been desperate.
With a shaky nod, Zoey backed away from the diner and eased into the shadows where restaurant’s light couldn’t penetrate. She just wanted to disappear. No one would miss her, no one would care. Everyone who had a claim to her was dead, their graves long since covered with dead grass and layered with ice.
Unshed tears crystallized at the corners of her eyes, a shiver from the cold and her own despair rattled her spine so hard it hurt. Self-pity was not something she should indulge in. But it was hard to ignore her circumstances when she’d spent the last month calling a ragged sleeping bag under a bypass her home. Food was even harder to come by than a decent place to sleep. The homeless shelter was half a mile away. They served only two meals a day with small portions since their food bank supplies were always low.
Her stomach rumbled rebelliously. She had to stop thinking about food.
Lauren, this is so sad and touching. Thank you for sharing.
Especially at this time of year, your excerpt is poignant. Beautifully written.
Thanks Sheri and Ella!
Love how you put me right there in the coach with your characters, Ella. Now that’s some fine writing!
Here’s my WIP, not a holiday theme or Nano product. I hope that’s okay.
Title: Troll-y Yours, Book Two in my Centaur series. Thank you so much for the opportunity to share my work here, and the priveledge of reading others.
“Look, unless you’re here on Her Majesty’s business, I’m busy.” She tilted her head and her little foot tapped the floor.
“You could say I am. What time—”
“What are you, the Head Palace Guard or something?” Ella rolled her eyes and huffed ou
t a laugh.
“Well, actually—”
“I’m booked for tonight’s sessions. I’ll have another in a few weeks. Do you want to be on the waiting list for that?” Tiny red-gold tendrils escaped the silken mass pulled back from her oval face. Her pen clicked and she poised her hand over a sheet of lined paper. “Name?”
He shrugged to hide his confusion. Why weren’t his charms working? Didn’t his battery recharge this afternoon? “Kempor Aleksander. Head Cen—”
“Aleksander Hedson. Got it. Payment will be due prior to your session. And, Al?” her smile lacked warmth, “please don’t be late.”
Sherri,
Thank you so much for your praise. Any WIP excerpt is fine. I loved yours. Poor guy.
Oh man, I hear you! I was scrambling this morning trying to come up with a blog post topic! My excerpt, editing to replace my swear-happy hero, is from my current Nano, which is a meta fiction romance called NOT ANOTHER DARCY, where literary manifestations can come to life at independent bookstores. I’d planned on only having Mr. Darcy to deal with, but this happened the other day. Setup, Matt, the hero, has just popped in early into the bookstore and caught the owner, the heroine, unawares. This is from his POV and still NaNo rough (I don’t worry about well-crafted sentences and atmospheric stuff at this stage) and all of a sudden I now have a second literary character in my WIP:
He gripped the doorjamb with one hand and swung into the room. “Morning, Katrina.”
She was squatting by the box of kittens and she jumped. Slowly she stood and faced him. “Good Lord, I didn’t hear the bell at the door.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to let you know it was me.”
She eyed an electronic device that he’d never seen anywhere before and headed closer to it. “What’s that?”
She opened her eyes wide. “What?”
“That device on your shelf.”
“Oh, it’s a critter deterrent. Supposed to help cut down on bugs and things like that.”
He frowned. Something about her stance said she was lying. If that’s all it was, why did she seem to be determined to get closer to it?
A sharp smell of ozone hit the air like someone had suddenly ____.
“Oh, no.” Katrina made a lunge for the device. She flipped a switch, but at the same time the air near her desk began to undulate and shiver, distorting the space behind it.
“What the hell is going on?” Matt kept his gaze riveted to the distortion. A human shape took form within the wavy air.
Katrina didn’t answer, but he did hear her swear. In several languages, if he wasn’t mistaken.
The shape resolved to a solid mass. Katrina stalked to her desk, sat down abruptly, and let her head hit the desk with a thunk.
“Who is it now?” she asked in a low, resigned voice.
Matt shook his head to try and clear it, make sense of the situation. “I’m… I’m not sure.” And he wasn’t entirely sure what she meant. This was normal to her? Did she have some kind of Star Trek transporter technology? Who the @%$ was she? And how was he supposed to know who it was? “But he’s got a wicked long sword.”
Her head whipped and and she leaned back to get a better look at the guy who’d just materialized out of thin-effing air in her office.
Who now pulled out said wicked long sword in a long, metallic scrape and stepped back against the wall, brandishing the sword. Seriously. The dude was brandishing. A freaking sword.
“Who are you? Where am I? Are you agents of Sauron?”
Without missing a beat, Katrina stood and held out her hand to shake. “Nice to meet you. You must be Aragorn? I’m Katrina and this is Matt.”
Was she off her effing rocker? “Aragorn? As in Lord of the Rings Aragorn? You expect me to believe this guy is Aragorn? He doesn’t look anything like Viggo Mortenson.”
She turned and faced him, her expression calm. “Matt. This is extremely important. You weren’t supposed to see this happen, but now that you have, I’ll explain everything, just not right now. Can you sit over there and not make a peep?”
The Aragorn dude stood taller. “I wish to know where I am and who you people are.”
Matt stared at the guy, then turned back to Katrina who was still looking at him with a very firm and don’t-eff-with-me look. He gave her a curt nod and took a seat near her, in case she needed backup, because, you know, the sword.
Angela, LOL. That’s great!
Always so much fun to read your excerpts, Ella.
Jenn!
Jenn, thank you.
Ella, your excerpt was sensational. All the excerpts were fantastic. Talent is the word of the day.
I’m not in NaNo nor is this a holiday story, but this is an excerpt from my current–unedited–WIP called Prophecy’s Child. It’s book #2 in The Prophecy Series.
“As you may or may not remember me telling you, my parents are very religious. When I informed them they would be grandparents, they didn’t take to this news very well. Actually, they said I was the daughter of the devil and they kicked me out.” Not being able to sit still, Katherine paced between the coffee table and sofa.
Kal bolted to his feet. “My God.”
“They were nice enough to allow me to take my clothes and my car. And since all my friends and their families attended the same church and were of like minds, I had nowhere to go.”
She didn’t tell him about eating from garbage cans, begging for spare change, or the deep hopelessness that wrapped her in its deadly grip. She didn’t tell him about the dark day she sat silently crying in the waiting room of a doctor’s office, awaiting her turn to terminate her pregnancy, or how she ran out the moment her name was called. Or how she seriously contemplated ending her own life—how the thought of her unborn child was all that kept her from giving in.
These thoughts she kept to herself and would stay forever locked away. They were hers. These struggles had helped shape the woman she was today.
She shrugged, hoping to appear nonchalant though inside her emotions churned like an ocean during a hurricane. “All my life I had been sheltered, but here I was, tossed away like garbage. My God fearing parents felt it was God’s will that they turn their backs on me. I sinned and had to pay the price. They said they’d pray for my soul and the soul of my child.
“For nineteen goddamn years I tried to be the model daughter. And when I needed them the most…” Tears spilled over her lashes and her throat ached. “They…Oh God…”
A damn burst and years of pent up frustrations and hurt flooded over her carefully constructed barriers. She hugged her middle in a weak attempt to keep herself together. Kal and her living room blurred as tears tracked down her cheeks. A hoarse sob tore from her lips. “How could they do that to me? I needed them—I had no one—nowhere to go.”
Furiously, she fought to harness her emotions, but when Kal’s arms circled her and pulled her into his embrace, her willpower wobbled.
Katherine wanted to scream for him to release her, but tears clogged her throat. She couldn’t force the words out. With her hands planted on his pecs, she tried to push out of his grasp. Her efforts were pitiful. Instead, he held her face next to chest with one hand on the back of her head.
“You’re not alone anymore,” Kal whispered against her hair. “Please, Kat. Give me another chance–I’ll make it up to you and Ike. I promise.”
A moan sounding like a wounded animal ripped from her throat. Instead of escaping, she gripped his shirt tight like her life depended on it and buried her face under his chin.
If only she could believe his words. She was so lonely and tired of shouldering all the responsibility.
The feel of a strong pair of arms around her was her undoing. Just for a moment she’d allow herself this weakness. And for the first time in years, Katherine let go of her rigid self-control and cried.
Thank you, Brenda. Yours was great. Loved it.
Lol. I LOVED yours, Ella. It sounds like Dom will never be able to figure out his betrothed and his mother combined. I should post something from Miss Merry’s Christmas, but I’m running out the door. Just wanted to read yours. It’s great. I love your humor.
Hi Callie, thank you so much for coming by.
I’m running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Good for you to keep your focus on nanowrimo!
Hi Madeline, thanks for stopping by.
Best of luck with your WIP, Ella! Sounds intriguing!
I’d like to share an excerpt form my new Christmas release, The Christmas Ball.
Sara’s heart beat frantically as the conveyance approached the grand mansion where the ball was being held. Gas lamps illuminated the city streets they traveled. The mansion was set back from the road. She stared at the windows of the large house, where the yellow glow of gaslight flickered. Her gloved hands trembled in her lap. Doc Ellison, who sat on her right side, while his mother sat on her left, reached out and covered her hands with his, sending delicious warmth through her.
“You’ll do fine, Miss Brewster,” he whispered. “Just stay with me.”
His mother patted her arm. “My son will take good care of you, my dear.”
Sara swallowed hard, sure she’d make a complete fool of herself at such a grand party. The fanciest to-do’s she’d ever attended were barn dances and get togethers at the homes of family and friends. Her heart fluttered as she tried to figure a way to not embarrass herself, as well as the Ellison family, tonight.
After their carriage pulled up in front of the mansion, Kirk escorted her on one arm, his mother on the other, up to the door, with Mary and her husband following.
The door opened to reveal a gaily decorated entry hall. Poinsettias and holly branches graced the way as a servant took their wraps. Her head swiveled toward the sound of music and laughter. Two, large ornately patterned doors stood open to her eager gaze. She caught skirts of all colors swirling as dancers spun around the large polished floor beyond the doorway.
Kirk’s hand on her arm settled her a bit as he led her toward the room. A white haired gentleman dressed in a black suit moved forward to greet them. He took Mrs. Ellison’s hand and led her inside. Kirk motioned Sara to follow.
Her gaze was riveted on the dancers waltzing grandly around the cavernous room. Tables stood to one side, steeped with punch bowls and food. Her mouth watered at the delicious smells.
Mrs. Ellison was led away to a group of older ladies, who swiftly surrounded her. “Mother is obviously well in hand. Shall we try out the dance floor, or would you rather sit the first one out?”
“I, uh…” Sara stumbled over her words, not sure what she wanted to do. “This is so…” She waved her gloved hand. “…so grand. I’ve never seen the like.”
Mary slipped around to her other side and took her hand. “We don’t have to dance right away. Why don’t we sit and watch the first few sets?”
Before they could move toward the chairs, Mary was presented with a small card with a pencil dangling from it. When the servant handed one to Sara, she held it up. “What’s this for?”
Mary grinned. “It’s your dance card. All the ladies get one and the gentlemen who dance with you have to sign it.”
Sara swallowed. “How many men do I have to dance with?” Her pulse raced as she glanced around the room. She didn’t want to look like a fool in front of all these people.
Doc Ellison took her other hand. “Don’t worry, Miss Brewster, I’ll take it upon myself to claim all your dances.”
“Be sure to save one for me,” Ted said.
“Of course.” Doc Ellison took the small card and penciled in all the dances, with one reserved for Ted.
“And when Miss Brewster dances with Ted, I’ll dance with Mary.” He filled in Mary’s card.
Mary raised her brows. “You are absolutely outrageous, dear brother.”
Kirk shrugged. “Anything to keep my lady comfortable.” He crooked his arm as an offering.
Susan, That was very good. Congratulations on your release.
Excellent excerpt, Ella! This looks marvelous. And all the excerpts look wonderful (Brenda, I’m expecting more greatness after yours).
Mine is from my WIP that I’m working on revising in lieu of doing NaNo. It’s book number 2 in the Scandal series, Only Marriage Will Do. Amiable (hero) has just walked through an innyard of mud carrying Juliet (heroine) to safety. Now he’s going back for her maid:
Once back at the coach, he attempted to put his arms around the maid, but she proved more skittish than Juliet about touching him. As a result, Glynis lay stiff as a ramrod in his arms. She kept her arms crossed over her chest so he had a much less secure grip on the girl, carrying her much as he would a platter overburdened with a roast pig.
They were about midway to the inn door when a coach and six thundered into the yard. The horses were nowhere near them, but Glynis let out a yelp of fright and tried to rise straight out of his arms. Her sudden movement threw him off balance, his feet skidding in the treacherous mud.
Damnation! If he could only compensate a little more…
Immediately aware of her peril, the girl scrabbled desperately to throw her arms around his neck. Too little too late.
The next thing he knew, he lay flat on his back, Glynis sprawled on top of him, both of them plastered with mud. The maid had, of course, fared better, having used her rescuer as a cushion against both the fall and most of the sticky muck. Her clothes might be salvageable.
Amiable swore under his breath, cursing the maid, horses, rain, mud, everything he could think of that had brought him to such a pass. If he waved his arms and legs he could make a snow angel. With mud. He sighed and raised his head. A disgusting sucking sound ensued as his head came away from the muck. Glynis stared into his face aghast, and tried to scramble backward off of him.
“For God’s sake, stay where you are woman! The whole point of this gallant gesture was to keep you from getting filthy. It will hardly be to my credit if I fail abysmally at this point.” He glanced past her to see Juliet, hand clasped over her mouth, either in horror or hilarity.
Sorry it got a little long. 🙂
Jenna, thank you. Yours is such a good excerpt.
I love the excerpt! I just adore when tough guys are dominated by the women in their lives. It’s so sweet!
Ok, here’s my excerpt from my NaNo WIP, Evil Love. It’s a fantasy romance between an undead henchman, Fox, and a mad scientist, Gretchen. This is the morning after conversation:
+++
“I think we have more important things to worry about right now,” Gretchen said, fighting to sound sensible and conscientious.
“Right, of course,” Fox said, he fidgeted a little and then said, “I know it’s not… really what we should worry about but about what I said last night…”
“I really have to get to work,” she said hastily.
“I know,” he said, “I just wanted to tell you… Uh…” his eyes darted from side to side as if he were searching for the right words, “I like you, I like you a lot. I really do.”
“But?” she said, even with such a sheltered lifestyle, she could tell there was something suspicious about his tone.
“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he said gently, “I do care about you but ‘love’ was probably not the right word.”
“Ah.” she said, rummaging in a box for a fresh stack of paper.
“Oh gods, I’ve upset you,” he said.
“No, you really haven’t.” she said, sharping in a pencil with a small knife, “It was post-coital nonsense, I understand. You did say that the timing wasn’t very good. It probably would have been better to just keep your mouth shut.”
“I’m really sorry,” he said and then more brightly, he asked, “Wait, you don’t love me back, do you?”
“Certainly not!” she snapped and only just managed not to cut her finger with the knife, “I told you that I just wanted to try sex with someone whose presence I could actually tolerate. You are attractive and your attention is flattering, nothing more.”
“Uh huh,” he said in a tone that suggested that he didn’t believe her much in the same way the sun suggests light.
“Shall I tell you something about love?” she snarled, “It’s hardly a great mystery or a gift from the gods. It’s a chemical reaction in the brain, those same chemicals are linked to schizophrenia and the pattern of behavior in people in the initial stages of romantic love are indistinguishable from the behavior of someone suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder. Love is synonymous with madness and what’s worse, it’s a distraction.”
Fox clicked his tongue. She could tell he didn’t believe a word she was saying. And why should he? She was being much too emphatic for her words. Someone who wasn’t in love and had to explain themselves wouldn’t get this defensive. They’d get embarrassed and try to soften the blow as much as possible. You mean, like Fox is doing? He stepped forward and touched her shoulder. She flinched and moved away from his touch.
“What would you ask of me?” he asked, she had to admit that it sounded better than ‘what do you want from me?’
“Nothing,” she said and caught herself pouting, was she really that much of a child?
“Come on,” he said, “last night you said that we were friends. I want to be friends again. Would you feel better if I said that I’m just trying to act aloof so I don’t scare you off and that I really do love you?”
“No.” she said, “I’d just think you were lying. Don’t ever tell me you love me again. I never want to hear those words again.”
“Gretchen…”
“I need to get to work!” she snapped.
Fox sighed. He nodded and patted her shoulder weakly.
“I’ll just go then…” he said and left her workshop.
+++
Totally surprised me that Fox would take back saying he loved her even if it was to keep from scaring her off and I was surprised at Gretchen not being the first to sabotage things but rejecting him before he had a chance to say anything. This has seriously thrown off my plan.
Great excerpt. It’s amazing what they do.
We don’t know how you find the time, Ella. And, what an unbelievable excerpt, especially for the first draft. Good luck with the holidays and Nanowrimo.
Inion, thank you. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving.
Hi Ella – I answered your question on my blog, but thought I’d add it here too: Laura Bradford didn’t specifically say that NY was taking any longer time than usual, but she did mention that she often has to follow up 2-3 times before she gets a response. Some manuscripts get a speedy reply, but others seem to go through a lengthy process.
Good to see you’re keeping pace with NaNo! Write on!!!
Wonderful, wonderful excerpts. Here is a bit from Wicked In His Arms – my Na No book. Not quite up to par on my word count yet, but I’m getting there!
“Apologize. Now.” Carved marble effigies in the family chapel bore more expression on their timeless visages than he did in this moment. He didn’t need it. Only a fool would mistake the cost of ignoring this man.
After a breath of hesitation and a furtive glance at Eve’s brother, Hightower gave her an abbreviated bow. “Please accept my apologies, Miss Tildenbury,” he muttered and proved himself not a fool, if only in this instance.
It mattered little to her. This time she did extricate her hands from the ruthless Mr. Crosby. She picked up her skirts and stepped away. “I want them out of this room, Bennie. And then I want them out of this house.” Eve spun on her heel and paced a dozen or so diligently ladylike steps into the cover of an aisle of giant ferns. The satisfactory clip of her half-boots on the marble tiles echoed in the silence until an explosive crunch of knuckles to flesh followed by a dull thud stopped her in her tracks. He wouldn’t. Would he?
She had no choice but to hurry back the way she came. Being raised with two brothers and a host of arrogant male cousins, the sound of a good punch to the nose was all too familiar. Once past the overgrown ferns she saw exactly what she expected. Dylan Crosby, her stone-faced avenger, stood over a now supine Hightower. Oh for pity’s sake. In spite of the tiny carillon of pleasure racing through her at the sight, the last thing she needed was a bloody-nosed lout leaking all over the conservatory floor.
“Dammit, man, you had no cause to—” Hightower, his fingers splayed across his face, spoke in such watery tones Eve feared his nose might be broken. Well, not exactly feared.
“I had every cause.”Crosby’s dark voice drew the words with an edge so lethal she winced. “Now stay down there and tell me what the hell is going on. After which Tildenbury here will hit you for insulting his sister.”
“Oh, I couldn’t – it wouldn’t be – he is a guest in my…” Poor Bennie continued to stammer.
Furious, she stormed out of the foliage and shoved Mr. Crosby aside. “Enough!” A quick rummage through Bennie’s pockets produced a large, somewhat clean handkerchief. “Really, sir, I hardly think it the conduct of a gentleman to brutalize a guest in someone else’s home and then encourage my poor brother to do the same.” She knelt beside Hightower and applied the handkerchief to his nose with a none too gentle pinch. The resulting scream would have done an opera singer proud.
“It is when the guest deserves it.” Crobsy’s sudden shift from primitive warrior to smug scoundrel made her dizzy and irritated her no end. “Stop screeching, Hightower.”
The man quieted only long enough to sit up and complain, “You boke by bwoody nose, Cwosby.”
Eve twisted the trapped proboscis back and forth with the now blood-soaked linen. “It isn’t broken. Be still, you’re spraying blood everywhere.” The screeching went up an octave. Crosby handed her his handkerchief. She snatched it from him quickly, but not quickly enough. The barest brush of his fingers sent a shock of awareness up her arm. She squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them wide. “You can hardly berate him. You’re the reason he’s screaming.” She replaced the bloody handkerchief with the clean one. Another long wail ensued.
“Clearly not my fault. He needed to be reminded the respect a gentleman owes a lady.”
Eve snorted and rolled her eyes. “Whoever said Hightower was a gentleman?”
A garbled protest blew against the slightly less stained fabric she held over most of Hightower’s face. This time when she squeezed the bridge of his nose she only got a heartfelt whimper for her trouble.
“I concede your point.” Mr. Crosby offered. “But I am a gentleman, and my honor demanded it.”
“God save me from honorable men.” She grabbed Hightower’s hand, placed it where hers had been and got to her feet.
In an instant she found Crosby’s hand curled around her elbow. “I should think you’d prefer to be rescued from the dishonorable ones.”
“I can escape those all by myself, thank you. That’s why God gave me a brain, to recognize scoundrels and avoid them.” Even through the sturdy wool of her gown his fingers pressed tendrils of strength and heat into her skin. Her eyes darted from those fingers up to his slight smile and all-too-knowing eyes. She tugged her arm free and forced herself to let it fall to her side.
“All scoundrels?” Crosby raised an eyebrow and slowly closed his fingers against his palm.
“If I’m going to hit you, Hightower, you’ll have to get up first.” It was difficult to tell who was more shocked by her brother’s sudden outburst, Bennie or everyone else in the room.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Eve had almost forgotten he was there. But when Bennie was quiet it meant he was thinking. The longer he thought the worse the results. And Bennie had been quiet through her entire argument with Crosby and Hightower’s operatic howling. No good could come of this.
“Well I can’t very well hit him when he’s down, now can I? Not sporting at all. Have to at least let the man stand up before I knock him down.”
“Quite right.” Crosby grabbed Hightower by his free arm and hauled him to his feet. “There we go, Tildenbury. Have at him.” He stepped back with an expansive wave.
Hightower gurgled, eyes wide.
Bennie cleared his throat and took a step toward him.
“Stop this at once,” Eve barked. She shook her forefinger at Bennie and then indicated the settee. “You, stand over there.” She swung back to Hightower. “You, sit back down.”
Hightower dropped to the floor as if shot.
Her brother, however, looked at Crosby, his forehead creased in consternation and then back at her. “It’s my duty, Eve. Right, Crosby?”
“Absolutely.” His handsome face bore all the solemnity of a bishop, but a small boy’s wicked grin lurked about his lips.
That grin set her blood to boil. The man’s scandalous demand for an apology on her behalf had usurped Bennie’s place to do so and belittled him in the process. She neither needed nor wanted either of them to defend her, thank you very much. Not her sweet brother, who eschewed violence at all costs, and of a certainty not the perfidious charmer who had made her forget the past for a moment. With friends like Hightower and Dashwood he must be a rake and debaucher of the first order.
“Miss Tildenbury?” Crosby ventured.
“This is all a game to you, isn’t it?” She stalked toward him, but unlike Hightower he stood his ground. Arms folded across his chest, he had the appearance of a slightly amused marble statue. She wanted to take a hammer to him. “You and your addle-pated notions of honor and women have little to do with either. It’s all about power. The power to rescue a woman in the hope she will fall at your feet in gratitude and adoration.”
“You adore me? Miss Tildenbury, I’m flattered.”
“And the power to humiliate that same woman and teach her just how little her adoration is worth.” Her entire body shook with the vehemence of those words. What on earth had she said?
The vast conservatory narrowed to the small space where she and Mr. Crosby stood. No sound between them, save the quiet rush of her breathing and perhaps the pounding of her heart. He must hear it, for she certainly did.
His jaw tightened. His expression grew grim. Something rose in his eyes, something fierce and soft at the same time. He knew. He knew her words were not meant for him.
Go. Go now before he learns it all.
She dipped him a brief curtsy, turned on her heel and fled. Tears of frustration blurred the path back through the thick plants. Her scrunched fist made quick work of them. She careened indiscriminately through the slapping, grasping foliage and made for the door behind a wall of bougainvillea. She slipped into the room hidden by the curtain of green vines engorged with blooms of every pink hue imaginable. Her back against the door she closed her eyes and listened for footsteps.
I simply want to say I am all new to blogs and definitely enjoyed this website. Likely I’m going to bookmark your website . You amazingly come with fabulous articles and reviews. Many thanks for revealing your web-site.
Thank you, Barton.
I got what you mean , saved to fav, quite great world-wide-web web site .
It is.