Thank you to everyone who made the rounds and commented last week. Today I’m back to my normal schedule. (wipes forehead) So, post any excerpt from any source. I always love to see your own work of course, so don’t be shy. Please post only one excerpt.
Here is mine from my very rough and unedited work in progress, that has a new tentative name. It’s been Lord Merton’s Suitable Bride and is now, at least temporarily, The Follies of Miss Dorothea Stern. I’d dearly love your opinion as to the newest title.
In this excerpt, Lord Merton has decided to fight his attraction for Miss Stern by leaving London, only to find her in another scrape.
Taking the opportunity to make his escape, Dom stepped onto the pavement, walking down St. James St. towards Piccadilly and then Bond Street. The nerve of Fotherby. Even if Dom hadn’t already decided Miss Stern wasn’t eligible, his friend had no business sticking his nose into it. He knew his duty, and he’d do it even if he hated every minute of it. He’d find an excuse to make to his mother and leave for his estate in Devon tomorrow.
He turned onto Bond Street. He’d pick up the books his mother asked him to fetch.
“What ye think you’re doin’, Miss. Let go of the lad, he’s mine.” A man’s rough shout disturbed his cogitations.
A group of people huddled in a circle. Standing taller than the rest, a footman in Worthington’s livery was in the middle of the small crowd.
A furious female voice he knew well rose above the rabble. “He is only a small, hungry child. You cannot arrest him.”
Thea. He should have known. He strode swiftly towards the gathering of street cleaners, vendors and curious. The small crowd of onlookers parted for him. At the middle of the scene was Thea squaring off with a sturdy looking farmer. An underfed, filthy child of perhaps six or seven years clutched an apple in one grubby hand and her skirt the other, clearly recognizing her as his savior.
“How much for the apple?” she demanded of the farmer.
“That ain’t the point, miss,” the man said belligerently, spittle flying from his mouth. “He’s a thief and deserves to be punished.” The child ducked behind Thea as the man leaned to one side. “Hanged or transported.”
Thea’s chin rose, and she stood her ground. “I am not saying he was right, but you might steal too if you were starving. The law in this case is too harsh.”
Dom’s cravat choked him. It was a law he’d supported.
“Looky here miss, don’t you go sayin’ I’m a thief. Look’t him. He’s got bad blood.”
The boy huddled closer to Thea, and whimpered. Somehow, when he’d voted for the bill, he hadn’t envisioned children, though he knew it applied to them.
She opened her mouth, then clamped her lips together and shook her head. “I am not casting aspersions.” She dug around in her reticule. “Oh, dear. I spent the last of my money on the fan. She glanced at the footman, apparently hoping he’d have a few coins, but he gave an imperceptible shake of his head. “Very well, then I’ll remain here and you return it for me.”
“No, miss, I can’t. My orders were not to leave you.”
Thea passed a hand over her brow. “I suppose the only thing to do is…”
It was then it dawned on Merton that she was perfectly capable of leading this motley crowd down Bond Street. Just the thought of the resulting scandal caused him to cringe. “Miss Stern, may I be of assistance?”
She turned quickly towards him and the worry lines etched on her face cleared. “Oh, my lord. Yes, thank you. Can you please pay this man for his apple? I seem to have spent all the money I brought with me.”
At the mention of “my lord”, the farmer took a step back. This time when he spoke, his voice was not as loud and considerably more polite. “That boy stole from me. I’m calling the constable.”
Holding his quizzing glass to his eye, Merton took his time surveying the man from the battered felt hat on the man’s head to his hobnail boots. Someone tittered. He needed to get Thea out of this mess in a hurry before she became the latest on dit. “How much for the apple?”
The farmer glowered, but finally grumbled, “Two pennies.”
Raising his brow, Merton replied, “Indeed. Perhaps we should have the constable on you. I’ll give you two farthings and nothing more.”
He dropped the coins into the man out stretched palm before piercing the rest of the group with a stern look. “The rest of you may go about your business.”
The footman heaved sigh of relief and Thea turned to the boy. “You may eat the apple now.”
The child watched warily as the farmer left. “Wot if he comes after me agin?”
Thea smiled, and said gently, “If he does, his lordship will take care of it.”
The child turned his worshipful gaze from Thea to Merton. “Are ye really a lord?”
“Of course he is,” the footman said. “That’s the Marquis of Merton.”
“Gor.” The lad breathed. “I ain’t never met a lordship before.”
Merton stifled a sigh. It was too much to hope Thea would allow the child to return to his life of crime. “Miss Stern, what do you plan to do with the boy?”
She drew her brows together, wrinkling her forehead. “If there was some way I could send him home, I’m sure my parents could find a family to foster him until he was old enough to train for some sort of profession.”
She glanced at Dom hopefully, and he knew he’d regret what he was about to say. “I shall take him with me for the time being.”
Thea smiled as if he’d offered her jewels. “Perhaps he could be your Tiger, until we find a permanent solution?”
He glanced at the lad. Despite the current fashion, there was no way he’d let a child handle his cattle. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.” Was she alone? “What are you doing here by yourself?”
“I’m not, I have Fred here.” She waved her hand at the footman. “Grace is at the shoemakers. I came to get a book when I saw the farmer grab, Tom.”
The boy nodded and turned his reverent gaze back to Thea. “Yes, yer, lordship. That’s how it was all right. Miss saved me.”
Apparently, no matter what Dom thought, Fate was determined to throw Thea in his path and rescue her from her follies. It would be Divine Intervention if this turned out well.
He glanced at the footman. “Take the boy to Merton House. Tell my butler that the child is to be bathed and fed. I’ll remain with Miss Stern.”
What’s the word count for the excerpt Ella?
Nancy, I don’t have one, just use your own judgment. You’ll know if it’s too long. You can take mine as an example.
This comment is from Michelle Hoefle. Here’s an excerpt from my first novel Carpathian Blood, due to be released by Eternal Press on Feb 1, 2013:
All the talk of vampires seemed to kill Mackenzie’s appetite. She had only made it through half of her sandwich and chips. As she put her sandwich back on her plate, she felt sick at her sudden thought, “But you gave me your blood? That was not a dream, you…you gave me your blood. What does that mean for me, Vlad?” She was looking him straight in the eye, her chin trembling. “That sounds like vampirism to me, Drac.”
“Not at all, blood exchanges are often done during mating, but only between mates. Transfusions from live hosts are given in cases of medical emergencies, life or death situations only.” Vlad paused to let her adjust to all the information, “As for what all of this means for you…It means that you will have to ingest a Terranian’s blood at least once every few weeks from now on. Your life-span will be greatly increased to that of a female Terranian. You will be stronger, faster, and your brain will develop further. Your healing abilities will be far advanced to that of a normal human. But Mackenzie, you are still human, you will not develop fangs or an actual craving for blood. You will need to find a mate among one of my people in order to ensure that you ingest his blood every two to three weeks.” Vlad finished explaining this whole new way of life to her.
Was he actually expecting her to accept this? Yeah, riiight. “And if I don’t? What if I refuse this new life?” Her breathing was picking up, her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest.
His eyes were as hard as granite, “You will age rapidly and die within one year’s time Mackenzie,” he said softly. “I am sorry if this new life is not to your liking, but I would not watch you die in those woods and I WILL not watch you die in the future.” He spoke softly but harshly, his eyes flashing at her. “I will feed you myself until such time you find an acceptable mate,” Vlad made it sound like a decree, which ok, that rankled.
“Harrumph! An acceptable mate?! Oh goody, do I get to choose this prince charming or do you? You are neither my father nor my king! You are so arrogant! Tell me just how old are you anyway? With your type of attitude towards…” her voice trailed off as she stared at him in dawning comprehension. He remained silent, just raising an eyebrow at her, “Oh no,… no, no, no! You, can’t be. You’re the real Vlad Teppesh, Vlad the Impaler!? It’s not a family name or one you made up is it?” Her heart was going to explode out her chest if it beat any louder or faster, she was almost hyperventilating. He reached for her hands which were fisted on the table. She jerked them back, “Don’t touch me! I’m … I am leaving now, right now!” Mackenzie stood quickly, knocking over her chair in her haste. She ran around the opposite side of the table from him, a scared doe racing from a predator in the forest. He reached her at the doorway to the kitchen, moving so fast he was a blur.
He took her shoulders into his strong hands, giving her a gentle shake. He said sternly but softly, “Alain wanted you to live Mackenzie, he needs you to live. Can you honestly say that you would have rather died?! I could not… I needed…” He paused, staring into her violet eyes, they were large and glittering with unshed tears. She was biting her full lower lip so hard that her blunt little teeth brought a drop of blood. His nostrils flared as he breathed in her blood scent. He lowered his head slowly, his hands and fingers tracing her shoulders, slipping around her to bring her body within an inch of his heated hardness. He kept his eyes on hers as he slowly licked her lower lip, licking away the crimson drop. She gasped at the contact, confused by how she could go from being so angry, scared, and hurt to feeling hot, flushed, and burning. Vlad was kneading her back and shoulders, one hand moving lower, one hand moving into her hair to tilt her head back.
Her hands crept around his waist, feeling the hard muscles of his lower back. “Vlad” she breathed into his mouth as she closed her eyes and met his sensual kissable lips with her own.
Great excerpt, Ella. I think I like Lord Merton’s Suitable Bride or perhaps Lord Merton’s Unsuitable Bride better. But that’s just me.
Here’s an excerpt from Only Scandal Will Do that you might not have seen before. Katarina is being questioned about her kidnapping by a Bow Street Runner–who happens to be a distant relation of hers:
“We heard horses approaching, but thought nothing of it. People do go about on horseback. But then the carriage slowed. Jack rapped on the trap and asked what was wrong. We heard a pistol shot, a dueling pistol, and…”
“Your brother mentioned this?”
Katarina clenched her hands into fists and pressed her lips together so tightly they hurt. “I mention it now, Mr. Matthews. I heard the shot myself, and in my opinion it was a dueling pistol, not a carriage pistol. I have fired enough of both to know the difference in the sound of the caliber.”
Matthews’s eyes widened and he peered at her as if studying her anew. “Your pardon, my lady. I had no idea you were schooled in weaponry. And after the shot was fired?”
His cool acceptance of her claim sent him up several notches in her estimation and mollified her somewhat. “The carriage stopped and both doors were jerked open. One man pulled Jack out and the other grabbed me. I heard my brother cry out, then nothing.”
Matthews inclined his head. “You fought them?”
“I tried. You may have gathered I am not one to easily acquiesce to force.” She flashed him a brief smile. “But I was taken by surprise and could not get to our pistols before they dragged me from the carriage. If I had, the evening might well have turned out differently.”
“What did the kidnappers look like?”
“I don’t know.”
His eyebrows rose then drew together. “You cannot tell me what they looked like?”
She shook her head and studied her hands in her lap. “They knocked me out. I woke up by myself in a strange room.”
Kat risked a glance at him. His incredulous stare said he had a hard time accepting her story. But a gentleman never called a lady a liar. Especially one to whom he was related.
“Can you describe the room? The furnishings? The walls?” His calm voice carried an undertone of frustration. She sympathized, but needed to stay her course.
“A small room. Plaster walls, nothing distinguishing. One window, but it had bars on it. Some little furniture.”
“A bed?”
She met his eyes, unflinching. “Assuredly.”
Matthews waited, but she continued her silence and stared at him, daring him to press her further. “What happened after the kidnappers left you?”
“I waited, I don’t know how long. Then I tried the door, and it opened.”
The stony look on Matthews’s face indicated his displeasure with her. “The kidnappers went to the trouble to kidnap you, bring you to this house, then left the door open so you could escape?”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t think they left it open, Mr. Matthews. I think it didn’t latch properly when they shut it. A fortunate occurrence for me. When I discovered there was no one in the hall, I managed to slip out into the street. Then I found the watch and ended up here.”
Matthews’s smile was not pleasant, but something in his eyes said he understood her reluctance to tell the truth. “You are certainly the most resourceful young woman I have ever met.”
LOL. Love it. She is indeed resourseful. I like Lord Merton’s Unsuitable Bride. I don’t know why this one is so hard.
I love the excerpt, and your new title!
I’m posting a very rough first-kiss scene from my latest work. Jasmine Fitzpatrick is drawn to the stable-boy, Parr McPherson, even though he hasn’t two pennies to rub together. She wants to continue the life of wealth and privilege, which her parents have provided for her, and her way to get that is by marrying Parr’s employer, Alastair Wickersham. But Parr understands her like no one else ever has. Here’s the pivotal scene:
It had been an exceedingly long 36 hours, and Parr was exhausted. The mare had not had an easy delivery. The colt was breech, and Parr was covered with blood by the time the colt emerged. Ah, but what a beauty! Parr couldn’t wait for Alastair to see the latest addition to the stables.
He washed the last of the blood off his hands, changed his shirt and splashed some fresh water on his face. He needed sleep desperately, but he couldn’t tear himself away from the colt. ‘Twas a miracle, to be sure, for the babe to be walking around the stall already. Parr looked at the long legs and the intelligent face. “Ah, t’will be a pleasure to work with you,my handsome lad.” He ran his hand down the colt’s flank and envisioned riding him to the finish line.
The sound of footsteps broke into Parr’s consciousness. He glanced up to find Jasmine standing just outside the stall.
“Ooh, a baby! How delicious.”
Parr replied, “Just born an hour ago. Come, take a closer look.”
Jasmine let herself into the stall so she could stand alongside him. “He might be a bit wobbly yet, but he’s up on all four legs. And, Lordy, what great legs they be.”
“I love the white blaze down the middle of his face, in all that black hide. He’s beautiful, Parr.”
“What are you doing here, lass, instead of being up at the house with Alastair?”
“I thought you’d be at dinner, too, but when I found out what was keeping you in the barn, I wanted to see what was going on before we sat down for the meal.”
“He is a beauty, isn’t he?” Parr could not keep his eyes off the colt.
“May I pet him?”
“Best not to. The mother’s a mite dodgey yet. In a few days, you can.”
“Have you given him a name already?”
“It’s Alastair’s horse, so he’ll get that honor. So, if you have a name in mind, share it with Alastair tonight.”
“Well, enough of horses for the moment. I have something for you.”
She brought a bag out from behind her back and handed it to him.
“I thought of you when I saw this, and wanted to give it to you.”
Parr opened the bag and pulled out a fine, gray tweed cap. He ran his hands over it, aware of its sumptuousness. It was much finer than anything he had ever before had. He got a lump in his throat, and swallowed hard before he answered.
“‘Tis lovely, Miss Fitzpatrick, but I canna accept such a generous offer.”
“Yes, you can, and you will. I owe you much more than that. You were able to get me past my fear of horses. Look at me now, standing here next to them. Not to mention the whole boot idea. I have much to thank you for. Here, let me put it on you, so I can see how it looks.”
She took the cap from his hands, and reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead. Parr’s stomach jumped at the contact, as did other body parts. She smiled at him and ran a hand through his hair as she another step forward. She placed the cap on his head, then tugged on it gently to get the right angle. Their eyes locked for a long moment. Parr saw desire in her eyes, and knew he had the same look in his. Feelings that had been too long denied. He cleared his throat.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to your dinner party, and to Alastair? He told me that Lydia Smith is visiting her sister in Virginia for a few months, so the way is now clear for you.”
Jasmine’s gaze dropped. “I suppose it is.”
“Well, you don’t sound all that happy about it, lass. That is what you want, isn’t it?”
Her eyes came back up and searched his face. “Yes, of course, it is.” Her eyes flashed as she held his gaze. He watched the movement of her delicate throat as she swallowed.
He reached up and removed the cap, carefully setting it on an overturned bucket. Then, he moved back to her side. They were a hair’s breath apart. His eyes focused on her lush lower lip and he lost control.
“I don’t think Alastair is what you want at all. I think this is.” He backed her up to the stall fence and captured that full lower lip between his teeth in a kiss that had been too long in coming. His tongue entered her mouth and he heard her small moan.
Like a man coming out of a dream, he blinked his eyes and backed away. What had he done?
Jasmine was breathing as hard as he was, as she stood by the wall, looking well-kissed, but furious. Her hand slashed through the space between them and connected with his cheek.
“How dare you kiss me!” Her eyes sparkled with fury as she gazed at him. She reached out for him again, but this time she put her hands on either side of his head and pulled him to her, kissing him with a passion he wasn’t aware existed in her.
He wrapped his arms around her and she held his face as they deepened the kiss. They rocketed around the small available space in the stall, bumping into the gate, the mare, and the wall as their tongues continued to collide with one another. Parr let his hand drift down her back until he cupped her bottom. His boldness was rewarded with a groan from her. He backed her up against the wall again, and placed his leg between hers as he pressed into her. His moan matched hers as they continued the kiss. Out of breath, they finally broke apart.
Jasmine took several steps back from him, her eyes filling with tears, and her hand on her mouth.
“What have you done, Parr?”
“I think there were two tongues involved here, lass, not just mine. And you didn’t gag, like you did with the cobbler’s.”
She turned from him as her tears spilled over onto her cheeks. She moved quickly to the stall door, then stopped suddenly and looked down at the floor. The hem of her dress was trailing through a pile of fresh horse manure.
“Oh, no. Now my dress is ruined.”
“‘Tis not ruined. You merely have to wash it.”
“But I’m about to have dinner with Alastair! I can’t sit down to dine with him smelling of horse dung! You’ve ruined everything, Parr. I hate you!”
Jasmine wiped the tears from her face as she let herself out of the stall, and out of Parr’s life.
Wow. Becky, great first draft!
Wonderful excerpt as always Ella! I am so impressed with how you handle writing accents!
Here’s an excerpt from my erotic Christmas novella Silent Night, about a woman down on her luck, who had the fortune to be rescued by two very sexy Irish vampires!
A soft scuffling was her only warning that she was in danger.
Zoey’s eyes flew open to the sight of a man dressed in rags and a heavy overcoat. A knife glinted in one of his hands, the blade flashing when it caught the glow of the diner lights.
“Hands up!” he snarled, revealing a set of rotten teeth from behind a thick brown beard.
Her hands shot into the air, terror seizing her lungs, squeezing until she couldn’t think.
“Wha…what do you want?” she whispered.
“Your purse. Hand it over!” he rasped, taking one step closer.
“I…I don’t have one.” Fear jackhammered against her ribs until she felt nausea and bile pushed its way up her throat.
“Money, give me your money!” His black eyes were full of darkness. He could have been any of the men she’d seen at the shelter earlier today, only they were sad and broken, this man was something awful. Evil glittered in his gaze and mirrored the spark of his blade as he waved it inches from her face.
“I don’t have any money. I have nothing…I’m sorry.” Her hands shook as she took a tiny step to the side, inching away from him. A sharp taste filled her dry mouth and her stomach, once so desperate for food, now clenched in violent spasms as she struggled to control her terror.
“Don’t lie to me!” Flecks of spittle shot from his chapped lips as he lunged in her direction.
He was nearly on top of her, the blade arched and Zoey tried to shut her eyes, but instinct kept her lids wide open. Everything slowed down. The knife split her ribs inch by painful inch. He pulled the blade back out, the cold metal was sharp against her flesh as he stabbed it in again. A strangled scream ripped from her throat.
Her soul, her very existence seemed to coil tight within her before shooting out like a firecracker, leaving her body behind. All the work, the pain, the loss, of the last two years was over. Every second she’d cried, every second she’d picked herself back up, it didn’t matter anymore. Her attacker pulled the blade back out and he cursed before turning and fleeing into the street.
Zoey crumpled to the ground, one hand over her ribs. Hot, sticky liquid oozed through her fingers, warming them. Pain lanced through her chest with each breath she sucked in. The word spun as she fell onto her back. The night sky above was lit with smattering of faint stars, like a handful of diamonds strewn over black velvet. The stark beauty of it made her eyes burn with tears. Would this be the last thing to fill her sight? Blood continued to pump between her loosening fingertip as she grew too weak to keep pressure on her wounds. One tear drop welled up over her bottom eyelid, thick and heavy it eased down the side of her face, catching in her hair. The trail of moisture was cold beneath the passing breeze.
Ice dug into her shoulder blades, cold and unforgiving. Invisible rocks dropped onto her chest, and a funny rattling noise escaped her parted lips as she fought to breathe. Her toes were numb and her arms too heavy to move. Muted laughter from people passing on the street seemed so far away. Would they see her? Would they save her? The chill stealing over her warned her it was too late.
Too late for everything she’d never had a chance to do. A life unlived, a heart unloved, a soul alone.
Suddenly the world around her darkened as a shape blotted out the winking stars. Glowing eyes, the color a wintery jade and electric, met her own. They pulled at her, with the power of sorcerer’s spell. The sound of her favorite winter song, the Carol of the Bells began to echo in the air around them.
“Damn.” His voice was rich and dark like hot chocolate, a luscious baritone that made her dying body tingle with lethargic awareness.
The man looking down at her had the face of an angel. All angles and lines, his strong jaw, proud nose and bewitching eyes, a halo of black hair surrounding his face. He was the epitome of beauty. So handsome that her body wracked with a shudder. She really was dying, if an angel had come for her soul.
She tried to speak to him, and although her lips moved, no sound came out.
Her angel did something unexpected. He raised his wrist to his mouth, bit into it then put his wrist against her mouth. She tasted blood and she jerked away from his bleeding wrist reflexively. A heavy scowl pulled his black brows down.
“Poor sweetheart, just drink.” The Irish lilt to his voice made her insides feel warm, despite the pain and the chill that threatened to consume her.
A hand cupped the back of her head and held her captive while his wrist pressed deeper between her parted lips. Zoey gasped as the blood poured into her and she was forced to swallow. The hand behind her head began to lightly massage her scalp, the sensation wonderful and soothing. She relaxed into that gentle touch.
The metallic tang of blood still coated the insides of her mouth when he pulled his wrist away. Her lashes started to fan up and down rapidly and then the pain hit her like a freight train. She moaned and lost all control of her body. She was barely aware of the man picking her up in his arms.
“Easy, love, easy.”
The sky above her whirled and the lights from the stars formed silver circles. She clamped her eyes shut just as the man who held her lurched forward. The wind rushed around them, her long hair whipped across her face in stinging slaps but Zoey was too lost in the pain surging in her body in tidal waves.
A second, an hour, a month, she wasn’t sure when everything suddenly stopped, until she felt herself grind to a halt. The pain faded, leaving her sore and bruised. She surrendered to exhaustion, hearing the man speak one last time just as she let go.
“I should like to keep you, little one. Keep you and never let you go.”
Oooh, Lauren. That’s going to be a good one.
This is from my rough WIP tentatively entitled “The Marquess and the Lady.”
Hunter, the Marquess of Redingcoate is marrying Lady Amanda Seacroft, but will not allow himself to fall in love, due to a devastating betrayal many years ago.
Hunter leaned back lazily in his chair, and stretched out his legs. He gave the appearance of a man who was unconcerned with whomever he was speaking to. “Bensen, what is it? Have you heard my good news and come to wish me happy?”
Bensen’s steel gray eyes darkened and he bared his teeth. “Not quite, Redingcoate. Has Martindale actually accepted your suit or are you jumping the gun? You knew I was courting the chit, and had approached her father. Damn you!” The vehemence in Bensen’s tone startled Hunter out of his indifference.
Hunter stood up, his six foot three fame towering over the smaller, but powerfully built viscount. His tone was quiet but deadly. “You have no claim on the lady, so I advise you to slink back into whatever hole you crawled out of. You are to forget you ever knew her and will not speak to her again. “His eye flicked over the man dismissively. “Get you gone from my sight, I am hungry and I don’t wish my appetite to be spoiled anymore than it already has.”
With that, Hunter sat down and turned his back to Bensen. The table conversed amongst themselves; they failed to see the cunning look Benson speared at Hunter. He walked back to his table. His friend, Reginald Sidwell, the second son of Viscount Dowd looked up as he approached his hatchet face alight with malice.
“Well, what did he say? Did he really offer for the girl? Did the earl actually accept?”
Bensen slumped down in the chair, propped his head in his hands and swore viciously. What the hell was he going to do now? He truly had no desire to marry; he was not interested in a staid, normal relationship. His tastes ran to more deviant pleasures like those he found at the Golden Door. But his father insisted that he marry by the time he reached 25. If he failed to marry, he would lose everything, except the properties entailed to the Earldom. Those two meager properties were mired in debt. His stomach roiled with bile. He needed a drink.
His head snapped up. “Waiter, whiskey, now!” A bottle appeared with two glasses. He poured a full glass and downed it, and poured and drank it down too. “They are to be married. The earl has accepted his offer. I need to think on this. I will see you later at the Golden Door.” He drained his third glass and stumbled out of the club.
Hunter’s table watched as Bensen left. Dex quirked his brow. “Taking it rather hard isn’t he? He must have been pretty certain that his suit was to be accepted. The talk is he must marry soon otherwise he will lose all but his entailed properties.” He smirked. “You cut him off quite nicely old chap.”
Hunter tipped his glass to Dex. “It was nothing personal; I have heard rumblings of his association with the whores at The Golden Door. The thought of him going from those women and their debauched activities, home to Amanda…” His voice turned gruff and harsh. “I couldn’t let that happen to her. She doesn’t deserve a man like that for a husband.” He drank his whiskey and his hands shook almost imperceptivity. Almost.
Tristan eyed him with speculation. “So you do care for her, Hunter. Why won’t you just let yourself enjoy your life and stop exerting such control over yourself and everything in your life? You will find that your happiness will overwhelm you.”
Hunter pushed back from the table and stood up. He had had enough of the lecturing. “My friends, I thank you for joining me for lunch. I am now off to see my betrothed and finalize our wedding plans. I will be sure to inform you all of the arrangements so you can make your plans.” He turned and strode out of the doors, before any of his friends could say a word.
“Well,” said Ash, leaning back in his chair. “How long do you think it will take him to realize how much he really cares for Amanda? I almost feel sorry for him; he doesn’t even realize what he has right in his hands.”
Dex swirled his drink and grinned. “He will realize soon enough what he has in his hands on his wedding night. I would bet that it won’t take more than that for him to fall under little Lady Amanda’s considerable charms. The poor sod doesn’t even realize he’s half in love with her already.” He looked over at Tristan. “He is no different than you were, Trist, when you were chasing after Victoria.”
The table laughed outright at Tristan, who just shrugged his shoulders. “If Hunter and Amanda end up as happy as Victoria and I are, then everything leading up to this moment will have been worth it.” The duke looked around the table at his friends.
“Hunter is more complicated than I, however. He was betrayed in such a devastating manner that Amanda will need to be very strong. She is such a romantic little thing, I hope he doesn’t break her.”
Dex looked at him, as if seeing his old friend for the first time. “Trist, old man, when did you become such an expert on women and matters of the heart?”
Tristan stood up and pulled on his greatcoat. “My friends, it is an eye-opening experience to live with as many women as I do. But Victoria has shown me that to be happiest, one must think about how one’s actions affect others, rather than only oneself. Plus, I would rather have a warm and willing body to lay next to each night, than hold a cold pillow. I told it to you all before. When you find it, you will know it. But first,” Tristan said, sounding wiser than his years,”you have to open your eyes and see what is there right in front of you.”
Nancy, that’s very good. Great first draft.
Here is mine from my debut that releases on December 28th. 🙂
Excerpt (PG-13 for language)
“What’s a girl like you doing at a bar like this?” he asked.
Her voice was a purr, like a cat well satisfied with its stolen pitcher of cream. “I’m looking for someone special.”
Hoping that she meant him he asked, “Did you find him yet?”
“Maybe.” The glint in her eye told him he was definitely in the running. However, I’m not looking to hook up with just any old cowboy. He must be able to go the full eight seconds and come back for more.” She eyed him from head to toe. “Think you can handle that?”
Oh, I can most definitely handle you sweetheart.
Not wanting to seem too eager he replied, “I’m not sure but I’m willing to try.”
“Do or do not. There is no try.” He struggled not to let his grin escape. The fact that she was trying to seduce him made his dick twitch.
“Let’s just say I’m looking to burn off some pent up frustration. A little excess energy. And I’ve got plenty to burn.”
The way she shivered at his words, he knew he almost had her. He winked as she licked her crimson lips and blew out a small breath. Damn what this woman is doing to him.
He pushed her knees apart with his left leg and was rewarded with the amazing scent of her arousal. The knowledge she was wet for him had him close to going off in his jeans.
Houston, we have lift-off!
“Why don’t you have a seat cowboy and we’ll talk about it.”
She gasped when he shocked her with a brush of his lips against hers; fighting with everything he had not to deepen the kiss.
Patience, patience.
He would play her game for the moment but sooner or later, she would be his. Tied up and begging for more.
He asked her, “Now about that eight second ride?”
Great job!! That was hot!
Thanks Ella. That’s actually tame. 🙂
Harlie
Harlie, LOL. Then thanks for keeping it at the PG level.
wow! You’ve got a great range of excerpts here today, Ella!! Loved ’em all! I’m disappearing into my writing cave so maybe I’ll stop by in a bit with an excerpt 🙂 Nice job everyone!! Thanks for sharing!
Jennifer, thanks for coming by. I can’t wait to read yours.
Hi Ella,
I’m partial to “Lord Merton’s Suitable Bride”…there’s something about the words “Suitable Bride” that leads me to believe he’s going to have his hands full 🙂 The other title is fun and appealing as well, but there’s just something about the suitable bride that engages my interest.
I’ll be back in a bit with an excerpt 🙂
Tara
Hi Tara. Thank you. I’m looking forward to your excerpt.
Great excerpt Ella!
This excerpt is from my new novel, Lost Honor, that just came out for Kindle on Saturday.
Shoved by powerful hands, she fell to her knees before booted feet. “Found her in the hold, Cap’n. Thought she was a boy at first, her wearin’ pants and a cap, but she has tits.”
“I can see that, Jurgens.”
Arianna followed the shiny boots up to tight-fitting, brown breeches hugging muscular thighs, and slim hips. A loose, white shirt covering broad shoulders next met her gaze, then a corded neck, square jaw, stern lips, crooked nose, and cold, dark eyes that stared down at her. “Where’s my brother? Who are you?”
“I will be asking the questions. Who are you, and why are you on my ship?” The deep voice thundered through the cabin.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Dizziness swamped her. Swallowing convulsively, she battled to contain the contents of her queasy stomach. Hiding in that empty molasses barrel hadn’t been the brightest idea of her twenty-one years. “I’m not talking to anyone but my brother.”
Jurgens’s forceful hands yanked her to a standing position. “You answer the cap’n.”
The abrupt movement snapped the fragile control she clung to. Spasms seized her throat. Arianna struggled to turn away, but the fingers digging into her arms held her in place. The contents of her stomach erupted.
All over Captain Danvers’s boots.
Her captor released her and jumped back in horror.
Loreen Augeri
LOL. That will teach him. Great excerpt.
I’m enjoying reading all these GREAT excerpts!!!
Thanks, Sheri. I’m so glad you came by.
Hi Ella,
I’m back 🙂 Here’s an excerpt from my current WIP, “Lady Madeline’s Revenge”, a Victorian steampunk with paranormal elements (whew, that was a mouthful!). Lady Madeline is a vigilante on the run with the American bounty hunter who’d been sent to capture her. It’s still a little rough – I’m currently in the middle of revisions. Here’s a little of the story:
Archer pulled her close. Peering down at her, so close Maddie could make out the tiny flecks of hazel in his mossy green eyes, his expression had lost its arrogance. But not its strength.
“I know a place. You have to trust me, Maddie. At least for now.”
This near, the American wielded a distinctly unfair advantage. His physical presence swarmed her senses as his eyes searched hers. What could he possibly hope to find in their depths? Faith in his assurances he’d keep her safe? Bloody fool. She’d never entrust her survival to anyone but herself. Even if she went along with whatever scheme his clever brain hatched, his greed would soon trump whatever protective instincts their predicament had aroused. He’d trot her off to that devil Worth and leave her to her fate, all the while fool enough to believe he’d actually receive the payment promised for his soul.
The rap on the door provided a temporary respite. “It’s me, George.” The lad, back so soon. Of course Byrne would send the boy on the errand. He’d be far too busy plotting a way out of his own noose to play ladies’ maid for long.
“What’s your purpose?” Archer’s voice had taken an edge, far more gruff and forbidding than necessary.
“The cap’n gave me some clothes for the lady. I think she’ll be pleased.”
Nick held his gun at the ready as he unbolted the door and opened it. The Ruling Council wasn’t above using a child as a decoy.
George hurried into the room and deposited a folded pair of trousers and a plain, dusty-blue cambric shirt in Maddie’s outstretched arms. “Cap’n says t’tell ye he’s sorry he couldn’t find a pair of shoes that’d fit ye. No man on this ship has feet as small as yers, m’lady.”
“Move along, now, boy,” Archer grated. “They’ll have to do.”
“Yessir,” George replied with a crisp nod and a hasty retreat.
Maddie waited until the door closed behind the lad. “I can’t say much for the fashion, but these will be infinitely more practical than the scraps of fabric I’m wearing.”
“Are you going to put them on or admire them?”
“I intend to wear them, of course.”
A slow smile spread over his features. “What are you waiting for, Miss Montgomery?”
Heat streaked across her cheeks. She stared down at the trousers. Finally, she shook them out in a forced attempt to appear as if she was actually readying the garment for her use.
“I am waiting for you to permit me some privacy to disrobe.”
His smile broadened. “Not a chance.”
Surely he only meant to toy with her. He certainly enjoyed riling her. Were all Americans so contrary?
“Any gentleman would understand my need for modesty.”
“At what point did you decide that I’m a gentleman?”
“Perhaps not in the true sense, but I’d hoped you harbored some decency.”
He rubbed his palm over his jaw as if considering her words. “Not one whit. Not where you’re concerned, at least. I’m not leaving you alone for a goddamn minute.”
Her mouth tightened. Blast this infuriating man. “Will you at least turn around?”
Nick folded his arms across his chest and met her incredulous gaze. “Turn my back? On you? I’d wind up with a sleeve wrapped around my windpipe.”
“You expect me to undress…in front of you?”
“That’s the only way it’s going to happen. Of course, you could choose to keep that rag on. It won’t be long before you’ll have enough skin showing beneath what’s left of it to save you the trouble of undressing.”
“Very well.” She lifted her chin and gave a little sniff. “I’d hoped you might have the decency to treat me like a lady.”
“Oh, you’re a lady, all right. That doesn’t have a damn thing to do with it.”
She wasn’t about to let this arrogant cowboy get the better of her. Her left hand went to the buttons on the back of her bodice and she worked them free with her uninjured fingers.
“I trust this amuses you.” She chilled her tone to a glacial frost.
“Believe me, Maddie, I’m not going to see anything I haven’t seen a hundred times before.”
The thought of Nick Archer peeling the clothes from any number of willing women pricked at her far more than was logical. Heat peppered her cheeks. “I suppose women were only too eager to shed their clothing for your benefit.”
“Actually, for their benefit.” His voice was low, husky and rife with arrogance.
“I presume these women were compensated quite handsomely. After all, few things benefit a lady more than a nice, shiny gold piece.”
“Come to think of it, there was a certain beauty back in Tombstone who could lift a five dollar bank note off the bar without using her hands, or anything above her waist for that matter. Damned if I’ve ever seen a better use for a greenback.”
His fond remembrance left Maddie speechless. She allowed a little huff to escape her lips, jutted out her chin, and tore open the remaining buttons on her tattered dress. Shrugging out of the gown, she stepped away as the remnants pooled at her feet.
She wanted nothing more than to hug her arms over the translucent fabric of her chemise, to conceal her body from his all-too-observant eyes, but she defied the craving for modesty and snatched up the shirt. The garment engulfed her. The sleeves touched her fingertips and the hem hung nearly to her knees, billowing over her petticoat.
“It’s torn,” she murmured under her breath.
“Now ain’t that a shame. Should I summon Byrne’s tailor?”
She lifted her gaze. “Yes, please. And while you’re at it, notify Miss Perry at the Ladies’ Pages. I’d hate to miss the opportunity to create a new fashion trend.” Her fingers went to her petticoat. A few tugs on the fraying ribbons, and the voluminous undergarment drifted to her ankles. She stepped away from the cloud of white cotton and lace.
His eyes swept over her legs. “Amazing how sheer a lady’s drawers are. I’ve never figured out why women even bother with them.”
Her breath hovered in her throat. Ah, he was a scoundrel. “I’d not taken you for such a blackguard.”
“You might want to put your trousers on, Miss Montgomery.”
Biting back a choice epithet, she grabbed the trousers and wriggled the heavy twill over her drawers. “I will need a length of cord or something of the sort to keep these blasted trousers around my waist.”
Without a word, he took the knife from his boot and used it to slice a long crimson strip from the heap of silk piled on the floor. Twisting the cloth, he fashioned a belt and thrust it into her hand.
She wrinkled her nose and tethered the fabric around her waist. “And to think, I missed my London debut. What an ensemble this would have made,” she said with wry twist of her lips.
“It’s safe to say nothing would have compared with it.”
“Indeed.” Amusement flickered in her soul despite the vexing man who’d led her into this predicament. “Perhaps I should continue to pass myself off as Felicity Spencer. An American heiress clad in a deck hand’s discards. The Parisian modistes will scramble to create their own cambric and twill concoctions.”
“Every woman in London would be rummaging around the docks.”
“I doubt Lady Brownley would be able to fit her arse into breeches, what with the stick she keeps tight in her bottom.”
“Somehow, I doubt Lady Brownley—whoever the hell she is—would fill out those trousers like you do.”
He reached for her, bringing her closer. Emotion blazed in his eyes. Desire, and something more. Deeper. A hunger of the soul. His hands, broad and strong, slid along the length of her arms, lighting her senses ablaze. He traced the curve of her face, a raider regarding a rare prize.
She resolved to break away, but she couldn’t summon the will to break the fragile connection between them. How she craved his touch.
And then, he kissed her.
Great job, Tara. Thanks for posting.
You’re welcome 🙂 Thanks for this opportunity!
Your welcome. This is fun for me.
I enjoyed your excerpt, Ella. I’ll share a bit of mine. Then I’m saving the email and going back through to enjoy everyone’s excerpts! Thanks! Great fun reading them all!
Waking up Dead – rough draft
Catherine Wolffe
The Yankees!
Sonja’s pulse picked up. Horse hooves pounded the ground in resounding reverberation. The knowledge she would face them alone made her heart rise into her throat. Gathering her wits, she prayed for courage.
Through the mist of the early morning gloom the demons rode. Ironic they could move during the daylight hours but a fog had rolled in with the breaking of dawn and a gloom hung over the sun. Thanks to the fog, she would be limited as well to the shadows of the trees. Drawing them into the deadly light would test her newly honed skills.
Two by two they rode, their horses’ hooves striking the hard packed clay of the main road. By the sheer number of them, her old adversary, Perkins intended to intimidate her with their numbers. The bloody bastard proved every bit as pompous and arrogant as he looked.
Ty would have understood the demons plan for attack. He lover, a Confederate Lieutenant could hold his own against this bastards. The blue-bellied traitors to the Union weren’t human anymore yet they processed talent in military tactics. No, they were vampire and they saw victory in the form of blood – her blood.
Unable to help it, the wolf inside her surged forth. Sonja sneered with a low growl in her throat before bringing the beast back under control. Neither the human nor her inner beast would be so easily swayed, she vowed. With the gleam of the gift in her lovely tawny eyes, she wrenched open the armoire and shoved back the boxes at its base. Ty’s gun should be under her camisoles and lingerie. The fact she’d never had the chance to wear any of the lacey lingerie for him pricked her conscious. Where was the damn thing? Instinctively, she reached up fingering the medallion around her neck. Tyler Loflin had given her the necklace right before he was sentenced to court-martial. “Damn you, Ty. Why’d you have to go and leave me like this?” She stood and stamped her slim foot against the boards of the bedroom floor. Her idea of a honeymoon was spiraling out of control along with the fight facing her as soon as the Yankee demon bloodsuckers arrived. Now where was that frigin’ gun? She didn’t used to talk like this, she mused. Tyler Loflin definitely had an effect on her, her character, her sexual drive and her wolfish instincts. He’d better get his ass back soon, or she was gonna kick it into tomorrow when she found him.
Hopefully, the witch’s spell would last long enough. She hated it when she had to change. Never sure if she did something she would regret while a werewolf always made her nervous. Now where was the gun? Sonja snatched the slim boxes out so fast tissue paper flew like a covey of quail about the room. The gun wasn’t there. Her only hope now was for the sun to come out. She glanced at the window. The day’s light ranged between dismal and dank.
Horses galloping down her lane! The small cottage she’d called home for over three years now seemed lonely without Ty there. Damn his hairy soul to hell and back. Where was the man? He needed to get his excellent ass back as soon as possible, which would put him there just about the time she killed off the rest of the confounded vampires.
Sonja stepped to the front door and peered down the road, which lead to her house – one way in and one way out she mused. The swamp formed the property line to the west while the hills and Spotsylvania to the right would slow her progress among the humans. “Among the humans…” The words sounded strange still on her tongue. When had she made the delineation between herself and those she’d known all her life?
When she’d acquired ‘the gift’ came the answer in clipped notes of warning. Her subconscious seemed always on high alert these days.
Tilting back her head, she tested the air around her. The smell of death grew stronger. The stench heralded their arrival. Soon, she’d face the demons who coveted the very blood that flowed in her veins – the blood of legend – the blood, which held the future for her kind. Werewolves would survive because of her, or so she’d been told. Hortence, the witch and tutor in the ways of the wolf reminded her of the responsibility she alone held within her very life on a daily basis. The hag could drive a person mad if given half a chance. Sonja’s lips quirked slightly with the image even with the effort not to. So if she was the future, gun or no gun, wooden bullets or not, she would dominate the day, rising to victory and vanquishing this latest insurgent of the dreaded demon’s spawn, Roegainion.
Wow, what an interesting excerpt. Thanks for posting.
Ella, I loved your excerpt and enjoyed reading all the rest. I liked the suggestion of Lord Merton’s Unsuitable Bride the best.
Thanks, Ally. That’s three votes for that one.
Really pressed for time today, darn it. I like the LMUB, too!
Ella, your excerpt is wonderful–you are truly talented. As for the title of your current WIP, I’m liking Jenna Jaxon’s suggestion.
I’ve read through all the excerpts posted and they are all fabulous.
Here’s my excerpt from my current–unedited and very rough–WIP called Prophecy’s Child.
The walls guarding Katherine’s heart slammed back into place. “I want you out of my house and never come back.”
Kal jumped up, stalked around the coffee table, and stopped in front of her. “I can’t do that.”
Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward slightly. “Let me make this crystal clear. I may despise my parents, but I hate you with a passion so intense I’m afraid I’ll explode. As sick and twisted as they are, at least my parents discarded me because they thought they were doing God’s will. You abandoned me because you’re a worthless coward!”
“For Christ sakes, Katherine, there’s more to it than that.” He grasped her arms. “If you’ll stop insulting me, I’ll explain everything.”
“Let me go,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Not until you hear me out.”
“Let me go right now or so help me.” She tried to jerk her arms out of his clasp, but he tugged her closer.
He stared down at her, his blue eyes dark with anger. “You’ll what? Tell me how much you hate me? You’ve done that—repeatedly. I need you to sit down and listen to me.”
With a violent tug, she yanked free. “How dare you demand anything from me? And if you think you have any rights where Ike is concerned then you are more deranged than I thought. Now leave before I call the cops.”
“Let’s get something straight right now. I’m going to be there for my son whether you like it or not.”
Without thinking, she drew her arm back then shot it forward. A sharp crack filled the room as her hand connected to his jaw. His head snapped to the side.
She didn’t see him move. But before she had time to register the burning pain on her palm his body was tight against hers, the hand she’d slapped him with pinned behind her back, and her chin held steady in his taut grip.
He stared down at her; brows pulled together, eyes almost black with an emotion she couldn’t name.
Fear sent her heart crashing against her ribs.
“Don’t do that again, Katherine.”
His hoarse voice and the unmistakable warning fueled her anger again. “Or what? You’ll hit me?”
“I’d never touch you in violence, and it hurts me you’d suggest it.” His face lowered until his lips were a hair’s breadth from hers. “My touch would only bring you pleasure.”
Desire rose up and tried to drop kick fear and anger aside. Neither would budge, so all three fought for supremacy.
Desire won.
His words shot right to the throbbing flesh between her thighs. Her breathing turned to shallow gasps, which brought her breasts in contact with his hard chest. Her nipples hardened.
Come on. Just do it. You’ve pleasured yourself to his memory for ten years. Those memories are old, stale. Why not make a new one to use for the next ten years?
Kal released her chin and then smoothed his hand over her cheek until he cupped the back of her head. His fingers tangled in her hair. “Katherine,” he whispered before his lips claimed hers.
Great job, Brenda. This is going to be a wonderful book.
Hi Ella, I vote for the Unsuitable Bride title. Sounds cool. Don’t have an excerpt to post today, but sure enjoyed yours. (as always)
Thanks, Callie. That’s four for Lord Merton’s Unsuitable Bride. Someone tweeted me.
HI Ella I’m posting an excerpt from the beginning of my NaNo WIP:
Suddenly the lighting shifted and the stage glowed with multicolored lights. A voice announced. “Ladies for your entertainment tonight we have five of the hottest men in Flair Town tonight. Please welcome the Five Gentlemen.”
Applause and cheers filled the club when the men stepped out onto the stage. They wore top hats and tails. The music played and the men danced with canes and tipped their hats. A slow change in the music and the men tossed their canes and hats to the side. They began to bump and grind to a rock tune. The first one turned and ripped off his shirt. “Hi my name is Chip, and I’m here to dance for you lovely ladies.”
The women in the crowd roared.
The second one did a little turn and spin with some moon walking tossed in for good fun. Then he repeated the shirt removal process. Tossing the shirt to the crowd he gave his name, “Hey Y’all I’m Tex I’m from the Lone Star State and I’m here to show y’all how we dance down Galveston way.” He glided into a two step and motioned for the others to join him in a line dance.
It went down the line with each man removing his shirt and announcing his name along with adding a little personal performance to rev up the crowd.
Next the guys looked at each other and yanked off their pants leaving them in various stages of undress. Some wore boxer briefs, some wore thongs, others wore bikinis.
Amanda shook her head. The men were seriously ripped. A quick turn of her head she found one of them standing in front of her holding out his hand. “Seriously? What am I supposed to do?”
He reached out, took her hand and tugged her from her chair. “You’ve been selected to come on stage for the fun part.”
She darted a dark look at Dana who seemed focused on the chips and salsa. The man kept tugging and it was either follow or be dragged. Giving in she allowed him to lead her to the stage. Thinking hard she remembered his name. “Dale,” she hissed, “what am I supposed to do up here?”
Dale a large fine specimen of male with dark eyes and dark hair whispered. “Follow our lead. Your friend apparently decided to give you star treatment. Is it your birthday or bachelorette party?”
Amanda shook her head, “No, but I can pretend if you want me to.”
“That works, this is your birthday. How old are you? Twenty one or twenty two?”
Unable to contain it laughter burst out. “No, not even close, I’ll be thirty two in two weeks. See I’m an old lady now.”
Dale checked her out front and back up and down. “Not bad for an old lady but thirty isn’t old anymore. I’ve heard more like eighty or so is considered old.”
Next he lined up next to her and the others filled in on either side. One of the guys had moved to the side of the stage to use the microphone and explained what they were doing. “Okay, we have our special lady who has a birthday. What’s your name lovely lady?”
Unable to resist his charm she gave him her name.
C.K. This sound like the start of an interesting book. Thanks for posting.
He’d sought her out to confront her with the handkerchief. Dashwood’s handkerchief. She’d drawn it from her uncle’s pocket. The same uncle had expressed a keen desire to shoot the “London blighter” less than an hour ago. Dashwood qualified as that and more. Dylan might not have given it a second thought had said uncle not proven himself more than willing to shoot ceiling medallions, stuffed birds and anything else foolish enough to wander into view. Dashwood, a sot drunk of the first order since their days at Eton, might prove a more difficult target than a stuffed owl, but not by much.
“Mr. Crosby?”
He nearly jumped out of his skin. She’d crossed the parapet without making a sound.
A tiny hand swathed in the sleeve of his greatcoat rested on his arm. “Are you quite alright?”
“Absolutely not.”
A perfectly symmetrical V creased her brow. She regarded him, her expression puzzled and a just a shade worried. A house full of bedlamites and his was the sanity she questioned?
“Did you want something with me, Miss Tildenbury?” Even in the sparse light from the open doorway he saw the faint blush and slight scowl his teasing words produced. He should be ashamed, but tempting her was so enjoyable he couldn’t resist.
“Your friend was here. My brother has informed me Lord Dashwood visited Wicken End the first week of November. He only stayed a few days and left without telling anyone.” She rattled it off like a laundry list and jutted her dainty chin out, daring him to respond.
He loved a good dare – ate them for breakfast, lunch and dinner in fact. It was what she didn’t say that piqued his interest. “Your brother?”
“My elder brother.”
“Hubert?”
“Yes. I believe he and Lily made your acquaintance in Yorkshire.”
“At Selridge’s. I remember. He and Miss Favorsham are well?”
“They are.” Her plump lips closed over the words and formed a line as formidable as any castle wall. Her flat tone might cry boredom, but she fairly hummed with some strong emotion. She intended to give him just enough information to send him on his way.
“Dashwood was here in November?”
“Yes, the first week of November. I didn’t know because—”
“You were in Great Harwood with Cousin Emily and her dogs.”
“Very good, sir. You were listening.”
“When it comes to you I’d be a fool if I didn’t.”
“If you find the comings and goings of a spinster firmly planted in the wilds of Lancashire so fascinating you must lead an exceedingly dull life.”
“I find you fascinating, Miss Tildenbury.”
Her eyes widened. She swallowed and licked her lips. An air of almost animal awareness settled over her. “Now you know the truth and can continue on your way.”
“How convenient you were away from home when he came to call.”
“Convenient?”
“Especially as you hold the gentleman in such contempt.”
“I don’t hold Dashwood in contempt. I don’t hold him in anything at all.”
She was definitely hiding something. And he hadn’t had so much fun in years, but at this rate they’d be atop the tower until Easter. He’d pried open oysters with more ease. “Did your brother say why Lord Dashwood came all this way only to spend a few days and then leave so rudely?”
“Which shocks you more – the fact he ventured so far from London, the brief duration of his stay or his abominable manners?” There she was. The snake wrestling minx was back.
“Dashwood will travel anywhere the ale flows freely. And like me he seldom stays in one place for long. His manners, however, have never gone wanting.”
A tempest of temper and outrage rolled across her features. “He’s a drunkard and a liar.”
“No doubt. But he’s a well-mannered drunkard, Miss Tildenbury. And he’s never lied to me.”
“How fortunate for you.” Her anger lit her face with passion. Magnificent, alluring passion.
“If Dashwood lied to you I would be happy to—”
“Punch him in the nose? Once was quite enough.” Primly said, but with a lilt of laughter just below the surface.
An odd shudder tripped across his shoulders, like hungry fingers on his skin. “I’d draw the cork of any man who insulted you, Eve.”
“I haven’t given you leave to address me by my given name, Mr. Crobsy.” Spoken softly in tones of smoke and summer nights her half-hearted admonishment brought his heart to a stuttering stop. “Even Dashwood?” she whispered.
“Especially Dashwood.” He stepped closer. The fabric of his greatcoat, still draped around her, brushed against his chest with her every breath. He slipped one finger beneath a fallen lock of hair and moved it away from her face. “Just tell me why, Eve. Give me a reason and I’ll pound an apology out of him to within an inch of his life.”
He stared down into her face and tried not to drown. Her lips parted. Fine puffs of icy air danced between them – her breath and his. Her expression softened. She opened her mouth to speak. And then mercurially as the wind she remembered herself. A step back and then two, she was the inscrutable lady of the manor once more. Damn.
“You will have to find him to do so, but you won’t find him at Wicken End. You may continue your journey in the morning, and when you reach London tell Lord Dashwood’s sister to look for him elsewhere. He isn’t here.” His greatcoat swallowed her. He knew if he grabbed the sleeves and ran them back he’d find her hands fisted and defiant. Just like her face.
He’d been dismissed. Summarily. He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket and clenched it around the handkerchief. If he confronted her now what answer would she give? She’d gathered the courage to deliver this sliver of information. Better to wait until she was off her guard. And getting her there would be half the fun. It had to be. He didn’t want to think of her being involved in Dashwood’s disappearance. Covering it up, however, was a different matter altogether.
“Shall we go down?” She’d retrieved a small lantern from a hook by the door and made quick work of lighting it from one of the fixed lanterns with a spill she retrieved from a iron sconce. She dropped the spill and kicked some snow on top of it, mashing it flat with her booted foot.
“You’re very efficient, Miss Tildenbury.”
Efficient enough to cover up murder?
He choked. As a result he dragged snowflakes down his throat and began to cough. Violently. In spite of his present imitation of a consumptive he stepped in front of Miss Tildenbury and attempted to go down the worn stone steps first. She might fall and break her neck before he seduced the truth out of her. This provoked more coughing. She’d addled his wits.
Why aren’t you asking her about the handkerchief?
“Ooof!” He staggered into the open wooden door. “What the devil.”
She slapped him on the back twice more and pushed him aside. “Let me go first. We need to get you inside before you expire up here and I have to send someone to drag your body downstairs.”
“To bury in the garden?” he wheezed. “Give me the lantern. I’ll go first.”
LOL. I love this story. When are you going to finish it?
I posted the excerpt and forgot the message! It’s been a LONG day! I posted a bit from Wicked In His Arms (formerly known as His Charming Seductress.
Some truly great excerpts here! And Ella I LOVE Lord Merton’s Unsuitable Bride! Thea is a wonderful heroine and you write Lord Merton so beautifully. He is so well-drawn, so real!! Love it!
Louisa, thank you so much. You’re such a great writer, it means a lot.
Hello, I enjoy reading all of your post. I wanted to write
a little comment to support you.
Hi, I check your blog like every week. Your writing style is awesome, keep
up the good work!