Here is your chance to shine. Post an excerpt of whatever you have published, with buy links, or that you’re working on. Please do not post more than one excerpt, keep them to a reasonable length, and PG rated.
Here is mine from The Seduction of Lady Phoebe which goes on pre-order at the beginning of April and releases in September.
Late June 1806, Worthington Hall, England
Lord Marcus Finley poured his third glass of brandy and strolled back to the library window. The sunlit terrace and lawn provided a stark contrast to the dim, wood paneled room in which he stood contemplating his bleak future and imminent banishment to the West Indies.
His gaze was drawn to the petite figure of Lady Phoebe Stanhope. The sun caught her reddish-blonde curls, creating a halo effect as she laughed and played with the Worthingtons’ young girls. Simply seeing her joy eased some of his pain.
Everything about Lady Phoebe was perfect, from her curls and deep sky blue eyes to her small feet and neatly turned ankle. There was a connection between them. He’d felt it. She was the only one who had tried to understand him. He wanted to marry her, but it seemed impossible now. Why had he met the only woman he’d ever want just days before he left?
He wondered what their children would have looked like. Another rush of anger swept through him, and he forcibly loosened the fingers he’d tightened around his glass.
“Marcus, there you are.”
He turned as his friend, Mattheus Vivers, heir to the Earl of Worthington, strode towards him. Vivers was the only reason Marcus was at the house party.
His friend pointed at the brandy. “That’s not going to help, you know.”
Marcus stared at the glass for a moment, watching the sun catch the amber shades of the liquid before downing the drink. “I’m going to hell in any case. What does it matter how I do it?”
Vivers rubbed a hand over his face. “When was the last time you were completely sober?”
“When my father told me I was being banished—and to where.” Marcus turned back to the window, his anger consuming him. Even his brother, Arthur, hadn’t defended Marcus. That had been the worse betrayal.
Vivers joined him at the window. “What’s so interesting out there?”
Marcus went back to the view of Lady Phoebe. “My last unshattered dream.”
Vivers glanced out. “Lady Phoebe Stanhope? Give it up.”
Scowling, Marcus replied, “Why? I may be a second son, but I’m still eligible. Once I reach my majority, I have the inheritance from my mother’s aunt.”
His friend ran a hand through his hair, disordering its fashionable style. “Very well, I’ll list the reasons. You’re a minor and need your father’s consent to wed, the same father, by the way, who is banishing you to the West Indies before you embroil yourself in a scandal here that can’t be smoothed over. The most important is she is not yet out.”
Marcus’s stomach clenched as if he’d been punched. “What do you mean she’s not out?”
“Not. Out. Not old enough to be on the Marriage Mart,” Vivers enunciated clearly. “At twenty you’re five years to young yourself. Do you really imagine that her father would consent to you marrying her? Ladies marry at twenty, not gentlemen.”
Marcus shook his head, trying to clear it. Why was she at this house party then? Was this some joke fate was playing on him? Or was it more punishment? “How old is she?”
“I don’t really know,” his friend shrugged. “Sixteen or seventeen, maybe. She has a great deal of countenance, so it’s hard to be certain. It’s a shame you won’t be here when she does come out,” Vivers mused. “I don’t expect she’ll last long on the Marriage Mart.”
Marcus felt like he was dying. By the time he was five and twenty, she would be married and have children. “Perhaps Lady Phoebe would go with me to the West Indies. God knows I love her.”
“We’ll have dinner at the tavern and attend the cock fight,” Vivers said. “That will put you in a better frame of mind. She leaves early tomorrow. Better if you don’t see her.”
Marcus poured another glass, tossed it off. “There must be something I can do.”
He went to add more brandy to his glass, but Vivers snatched the tumbler from Marcus’s hand.
“You’ve had more than enough to drink. Good God, man. Get it through your head. You cannot marry her. Now go to your chamber, and sleep it off before you do something stupid.”
Vivers left, and Marcus went to follow. He wobbled a bit as he took a step.
Lady Phoebe was waving as she made her way to the house. He would intercept her and make his case. This was his last chance to win her. In nine days he’d be on a ship to the West Indies, but first he’d take her to Gretna Green.
ellaquinnauthor
Ella Quinn ~ Author 
Thanks, Ella, for offering this opportunity. Here’s my excerpt from Banking on Temperance, which will be released May 6.
“How dare you!” She didn’t bother to knock at the top of the steps, she was so angry.
He turned to face her, but didn’t reply.
“Well? How dare you say that I’m the one who turned away from your friendship? You’ve become my best friend here in town, Basil, and I miss our good times. You never come to the restaurant anymore, and you barely talk to me at all here. Do you want me to quit? To leave?”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“If you know what’s best for you, leave, right this minute.”
“Why? Because you’ll tell me something I don’t want to hear?”
Basil crossed the room to her in two strides. He placed his hands on either side of her face and growled, “Not because of what I’ll tell you, but because of what I’ll do.” He lowered his mouth to hers, crushing her tender lips beneath his own.
Temperance stood still, in shock at what was happening. The breath whooshed out of her lungs. Her arms hung by her sides, but her mouth and tongue were doing battle with Basil’s. She wanted this, she had wanted this since the night in October when she stayed here. She’d begged Basil then, silently, to take her to bed, but he had remained stalwart. Now, she could tell his emotions for her rivaled her feelings for him. She breathed a contented sigh.
She moved her arms finally, and wound them around his broad shoulders, welcoming him. Her back was up against the wall as Basil continued to kiss her with all the pent-up passion that had been building between them for months. His hand drifted from her cheek down her front, and cupped her breast, just as he had unconsciously done the night they lay side by side. She gasped as tendrils of delight coursed through her body, starting at the tip of her breast and racing to the core of her being. She pulled him closer, reveling in his scent of spice and man. She tasted the tobacco on his breath, along with mint, and thought there had never been so delightful a combination.
This is where I belong. Not Oregon.
Very nice, Becky. Congratulations on getting close to your release!!
I have an excerpt on my web site (www.susanaellis.com/pub.html), but this is one of my favorite scenes, that takes place later in the story.
“When does the waltzing begin?” he whispered as they performed the elaborate steps of the country dance. “I must claim the first waltz.”
“We do not waltz here,” she whispered back. “It’s considered far too scandalous. Besides,” she added when they came back together, “we have already danced twice. A third would make us the talk of the shire.”
He chuckled. “Isn’t that what you were aiming for at the Sedgely ball? A juicy scandal to divert the gossips’ attention?”
She looked up at him in surprise. “You know,” she said, “I just realized I don’t care about that anymore. I’m glad Reese is happy with Eugenia.”
“Indeed,” he managed, wondering why he suddenly felt so relieved.
She did condescend to dance another set with him, and Damian hoped all of the old biddy gossips had noticed.
On the return trip, Mrs. Noble babbled on incessantly about gowns and stale cakes while Damian found his eyes lingering over the curvaceous form of the young lady on the seat across from him, the light of the moon being thankfully dim enough to conceal his bold appraisal.
She was silent, in a reflective mood, her head turned toward the window and the shadowed images of the scenery outside.
“Imagine that scamp Dickie Fielding enticing the Hampton chit to meet him in the garden!” Mrs. Noble exclaimed indignantly. “Why I thought her father would explode when they were discovered.” She lowered her voice. “I have it on good authority that they were embracing,” she revealed. “A dreadful scandal indeed should they not marry post-haste.”
Theresa’s head shot around to face him, and he knew she was recalling that night at the betrothal ball when she’d tried to lure him out to the terrace and he’d made a hasty escape. He rather thought now that he would enjoy a pleasant interlude alone in the moonlight with her. He would hold her against him, her head on his chest, while his hands swept over her curves. When he felt her pulse rising, he would draw her chin toward him and take her lips in a long kiss while his other hand would cup her breast, already pebbling with her desire.
Damian froze. What was he thinking? Cousin Theresa was no strumpet. The only way he could indulge in such carnal delights with her would include an obligatory wedding first. And that was out of the question.
Wasn’t it?
Ooooh, I liked that, Susana.
Great posts! Tweeted
Thank you.
Thanks for the opportunity, Ella! Very generous of you, and I look forward to some great reading this afternoon. This is an excerpt from the beginning of Where the Heart Lies, available in ebook format from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Carina Press.
Ty lay his hand on her still flat belly. “It’s the perfect place to raise children. Boys and girls. There’s a pond for fishing and swimming. And the street is pretty quiet, so they can ride their bikes. The house is the perfect size—not too big. Just homey.”
Alicia laughed and rolled over, and his hand slid across her belly to her hip. “You might be a little prejudiced considering it’s your childhood home.”
He pulled her closer, kissing her, and her body responded to him as she always did. She loved his long, lean form and the way he touched her with such confidence. She drew away after a moment, unable to resist teasing him a little. “Are you sure it won’t be a little, um, inhibiting for you?”
“What do you mean?” He looked at her, uncomprehending, his hands caressing the backs of her thighs now, causing little rivers of pleasure to run through her veins.
She smiled wickedly at him, using all her self-control to keep from letting him know how pleasant his touch was. All part of the game. “Well, you know, being in the same bedroom your parents were in when they—oh, you know…”
He laughed and rolled over on top of her, pressing her down into the mattress and kissing her firmly and thoroughly. His lips left hers and trailed over her jaw
and down her collarbone as he cupped her breasts. She gasped at his touch on her sensitive nipples and felt his mouth curve. His lips returned to her neck and he nibbled her earlobe. “Baby, as long as you’re there, I
won’t have any trouble being inhibited,” he whispered.
Chapter One
“Today is the first day of the rest of your life.” Alicia Galloway pulled her minivan into the driveway of her new home. The last time those words had popped into
her head had been the day Ty’s CO placed a neatly folded triangle of red, white and blue silk into her hands, and she knew the rest of her life wouldn’t be with her husband. She remembered staring at the flag, thinking about its thirteen symbolic folds.
Fold one is for life, fold two for eternal life. Fold three stands for our fallen veterans. Fold four is for the One who guides us in peace and war. Fold five is for our country and the sixth fold is for where our hearts lie…
She pulled away from the memory, her eyes tearing. Wiping the tears away, she looked around, trying not to be too cynical. “Hard to believe the rest of my
life begins here.”
Nice excerpt, Michelle.
Thank you, Ella! I really enjoyed yours, too. I can’t wait to find out how the romance goes between Marcus and Lady Phoebe. Interesting that men didn’t marry before 25! I did not know that. 🙂
Thank you, Michelle. That was the average age for heirs, but younger sons married even later. Men weren’t considered mature enough when they were in their early twenties.
Here’s an Excerpt for Trading Up a 1NS Series story coming soon from Decadent Publishing
Camilla’s deal breakers make finding a man to fit her wants, needs, and desires darn near impossible. For years she’s been primped and primed to be the perfect political daughter, when all she really wants to do is let loose without her world collapsing. When a friend sends her Madam Eve’s way, she grabs the opportunity to explore without being outed to the conservative watchdogs.
Jonah Black’s career is heading for a change. His friends have dubbed him married to the military, and he can’t deny that his focus has been off center. While they enjoy the pleasures of life and wives, he has nothing to come home to. When offered the chance for a 1NS, he signs up, unprepared for the exotic woman whose sweet exterior masks enticing sexuality.
Sensory depravation and the natural freedom of anonymity launch unexpected sexual desires. Madame Eve’s only request–Enjoy the sweetness of life and let the chips fall where they may–leaves this couple eager for an eye-opening experience that breaks all the rules.
Excerpt:
The flames licking inside her were too much to take, along with his roaming hand. She leaned forward and grasped the chilled wine goblet as a lifeline. When he nudged her lips to take a second taste, she pressed them together, holding her finger up and then laughing because he couldn’t see it in the dark. She took a long cool sip, more from Jonah’s effect on her than the food. She licked her lips then tucked herself against him, momentarily satisfied.
“Better?
“Mmm.” Cam sighed. “When’s it your turn? I’m having all the fun.”
“I’m having a good time feeding you.”
“You’re not hungry?” In the dark, his heart pounded against her cheek. “I’m hungry, all right. Ravenous, even.” Jonah caressed her thigh. Cam had no doubt his eyes would scorch her to her very soul. His lazy trail along her skin left her smoldering in need. She let him ply her with another skewer to distract from the throb at the apex of her thighs. She sucked a piece of pineapple he held between his fingers. Juices trickled down her chin. He mopped the stream of liquid with the pad of his thumb and nosily sucked it off. Holy bananas, she wanted a taste of him now. Her mind kept rewinding to the feel of his finger parting her lips.
“I uh…need to use the ladies’ room.” Cam pressed the button on the table for assistance. Seconds later, her guide assisted her out of her chair and slid it back in.
“Here we go, Ms. Knox.”
She stepped awkwardly away from the table. Along the way, she heard soft sighs and giggles. Definitely some hard-core kissing action. The idea of giving in to the dark side and making out in public heightened her ardor. A loud bang startled her. She jumped, almost losing Cesaire’s grasp.
“Don’t worry Ms. Knox. Almost there.” A few more steps and he ushered her into a space where dim lighting burned her dilated pupils for a moment before her eyes adjusted. He sat on a lounge chair between two doors marked Men and Women. The dim glow brought her normal self-conscious thoughts raging forward. In the dark Jonah couldn’t see her physical flaws. Would that change once he saw the real her?
http://www.mahalialevey.com
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Thanks Ella!!
You’re welcome, Mahalia.
Nice excerpt. Things are really heating up.
Thanks for the opportunity Ella! Here’s something from my WIP, which is set during WWI:
————–
“Leonore?”
Huw smiled tensely, mentally placing odds on her repulse of his request before the enlisted men. She continued to glare at him beneath her eyelashes, her brown eyes dark and wary, but to his relief, she took his hand. An elegant, slender hand with long, fine-boned fingers that fit neatly within his own. He placed his left hand firmly on her back as she placed her right on his shoulder, resting lightly, and he pulled her into the Castle Walk before she could shrink away. It was a sort of backwards waltz, with Huw advancing left-right-left as she stepped backwards right-left-right, his right arm and her left arm pumping in the air to the joyous jolt of the ragtime beat.
A rosy, velvety blush rose to her cheeks when their eyes caught, and Huw found himself reassessing the novelty of dancing with a woman who matched his height. Their strides matched as well, making him acutely aware of the press of her thigh against his thigh, the roundness of her breasts pressed against his chest, and their noses a mere centimeter apart. She averted her face, turning just slightly so that their gazes would not meet. A miscalculation, he thought wryly, for he only just tempered his instinct to lower his mouth to the long column of her throat to see if her skin tasted just as creamy as it looked.
“Just how did they manage to slip a ragtime record into the hospital?” Huw murmured, leaning slightly towards the shell-pink whorl of her ear.
Leonore smiled, the curve of her mouth losing its tight-lipped guardedness. “Courtesy of one of the ‘cousins’—those silly flappers who come to flirt with the men and smuggle sweets to them beneath the Matron’s nose.”
She turned to face him again. “How did you manage to slip beneath the Matron’s nose, Captain?”
“That, my dear Leonore,” He replied, pulling her into the first of three spins as the tune moved into its final bars. “Would be telling.”
The hand on his shoulder tightened when he bent her over into a dip to the sound of applause. Huw quickly pulled Leonore up before her cap could fall off again, which brought her flush against him, their noses bumping from the velocity. His eyes dropped instinctively to her lips, soft and gently molded beneath her straight nose, before rising back to her eyes when her breath caught audibly in her throat. She was just as affected by him as he was by her.
He could use this.
“Feversham!”
Leonore’s gasp shifted from arousal to shock, and she pushed out his arms, causing him to stumble back, as she turned to face the thin, dour-faced woman staring at the entire ward in consternation. Her craggy features shifted to furious disapproval beneath the voluminous white kerchief over her hair, which flowed over the blue and red cape marking her as a member of the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Nursing Service.
You’re welcome, Evangeline
Lovely excerpt, Ella… And, thank you for the chance to show-case my own work.
Excerpt from a Romantic Regency Murder Mystery.
Edwin closed the door, and although socially unacceptable for them to be alone in a room with the door closed it mattered not a jot to her, not even when Edwin caught her elbow, spun her round and drew her into his arms. The embrace on its own breathtaking, the kiss was pure ecstasy.
“Do you have any idea of the torture inflicted upon my heart when I spied Rantchester out there, knowing what I know about him and the part he played in your fate at Adam’s hands?” He let slip his hold upon her and stepped back, and she wished he had not. “I wanted to step outside and throttle the bounder.”
“I confess I failed to recognise him at all, not even when he referred to me by name. It was Rose’ teasing about his kindly action, and his name brought forth in jest that sent a chill of realisation down my spine.”
“Men like Rantchester, and their misguided beliefs a gentleman’s word must be honoured, may hold sway on silence to a murder committed but conscience will nonetheless sit heavy on their shoulders.”
He looked at her then, his grey eyes expressing something deep, perhaps his quest to unravel a tapestry of hate, jealousy and lies, no nearer conclusion than before.
“What news from London?” she asked. “That is why we are here, alone, and the door closed, is it not?”
A smile streaked across his face. “That, and I wished to demonstrate how much I care for you.”
She stepped close, placed a hand to his chest, and on tiptoe pressed her lips to his in tender light kiss. A fleeting kiss, nevertheless expression of her feelings toward him, and mark of approval for more of the same when time might allow. No words were needed, eyes-locked they understood each other: fully.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/Infamous-Regency-Romance-Mystery-ebook/dp/B0075XZNPW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363619973&sr=8-1
more 1st chapters at my blog: http://francinehowarth.blogspot.co.uk
Thank you and you’re welcome, Francine. Loved your excerpt.
I am so looking forward to reading your book Ella! ;o)
Suzan
Thank you so much, Suzan.
I don’t have an excerpt at the moment but yours was a wonderful read, Ella!
Thank you, Angelyn.
This one is from my WIP, “A Touch of Mercy.” It should be out in May. It is the fifth book in my Realm series. In each subsequent book, the prologue contains the same scene (which sets up the series) from a different person’s POV. Each new book also adds more details to the scene.
Prologue
Aidan Kimbolt shuffled the cards again, but his mind was far from the game of Patience he had spread out upon a low table. His thoughts remained on the letter he had received from his father. In fact, the letter’s contents had haunted his waking and sleeping hours. Aidan had almost regretted having read his father’s closely written message. Not as if your refusal of the letter would have changed the facts, he silently chastised his foolish heart. Susan means to have Andrew and a title.
Aidan flipped the cards with more vigor than he intended. Instinctively, he glanced to where James Kerrington watched him. Very little escaped the man Aidan’s small group of seven called “The Captain.” He offered his friend an unobtrusive nod to allow the future Earl of Linworth the freedom of no censure.
According to Shepherd’s orders, his particular unit of the British covert operations, known as the Realm, was to infiltrate Shaheed Mir’s stronghold. The British government sought Mir’s cooperation in protecting the English supply routes into this part of Persia, but Aidan suspected Mir milked both the British government and the mountain bandits, who plagued English outposts in the mountainous terrain, for funds for protection.
A shift in Kerrington’s shoulders warned Aidan something had changed. With downcast eyes, he watched as their leader whispered something to Gabriel Crowden, the future Marquis of Crowden, before having a brief word with Brantley Fowler. Fowler was infamous among the Realm for his foolish need to battle the image his father, the Duke of Thornhill, held among the ton. The current duke possessed a lusty reputation for debauchery, and Fowler often placed himself in the way of saving damsels, fair or not. It was an obsession, which usually amounted to their group having to extricate themselves from a fight.
Each of their little band knew how Fowler had stewed over a bit of tribal law. Mir had declared one of the women a whore. Had actually claimed the girl, who could be no more than fifteen or sixteen, worth no more than a rupee. Now, the Baloch warriors took their turns with her in a tent in which she was being held prisoner. In the three days the Realm had courted the Baloch leader, the girl’s cries had regularly split the air. Each time she called out, Fowler’s fists had clenched and unclenched in anger.
“Damn,” Aidan had grumbled as Fowler suddenly stood. He left the cards where they lay as he rolled to his knees to follow the future duke to his feet.
“I believe I will take a walk. Stretch my legs,” Fowler announced as he moved toward the tent’s opening. Without a doubt, Fowler meant to breech the girl’s quarters and to silence her current anguish.
When a Baloch guard motioned Fowler away, Crowden stepped before the future duke to dissuade him, but Aidan knew Fowler’s stubborn singularity would ignore Crowden’s warning.
A quick glance about the tent announced the cautious preparedness with which his companions anticipated the upcoming confrontation. With a flick of his wrist, Crowden motioned Aidan to flank Fowler’s right, and Aidan nodded his understanding. John Swenton and Marcus Wellston had assumed an alert slant to their stances, while Carter Lowery palmed a double-edged knife, as he swung his legs over a low-slung chaise.
Raising his hands in an act of submission, Fowler smiled largely and casually turned in place. Obviously, Fowler inspected his troops. Only a raised eyebrow warned them what would follow. “Forgive me,” the future duke mumbled as if he meant to back away, but, instead, his friend wound up to strike the guard with an upper cut, sending the Baloch reeling with a broken nose.
A heartbeat later, a complete melee broke out. Nearby, Wellston shot one of the charging Balochs in the knee. Meanwhile, Aidan took on two of the tribesmen. He elbowed one man in the throat to send the Baloch gasping for air. With a knife he had retrieved from a small pouch at his side, Aidan sliced the air before the charging mountain warrior. The cut left a deep red trail across his enemy’s chest and took a nick from the man’s chin.
However, before Aidan could turn to meet the next attack, one of the Balochs, literally, jumped upon his back. With an arm across Aidan’s throat, the warrior bent him backward, stretching Aidan like a bowstring. He fought for breath, clutching at the guard’s meaty hand. Then, just as suddenly, he was free. Gabriel Crowden had dislodged the man before delivering a perfectly placed dagger in the Baloch’s throat.
Aidan rubbed his neck, but managed a raspy “Thank you” before rejoining the fight. He used a large pitcher across an attacker’s head to waylay the man, who had Carter Lowery pinned under a broken table.
“Now!” Kerrington’s voice rose above the battle’s clamor, and Aidan knew without looking Fowler had rescued the girl. Along with his friends, he landed several strategically placed blows to quiet the last of those in the tent, but the sound of running feet announced the arrival of reinforcements. He followed Lowery and Wellston to the waiting horses.
Kerrington sent Lowery with Crowden and took Swenton with him. Aidan understood without being told it was his responsibility to provide Fowler and the girl protection in their escape. The others would draw the Balochs away from the trail the extra weight on Fowler’s horse would leave behind. Aidan, as the group’s best horseman, automatically crisscrossed the line in the sand, which led to the mountain pass.
As he watched Fowler’s retreat from a proper distance to guard against another attack, he noted how the girl clung to Fowler’s waist. The gesture reminded him of Susan. He and Susan Rhodes had been childhood friends, and, eventually, young lovers. She would often catch him up after Aidan had teased her unmercifully, and then her arms would come about his waist, and Susan’s chin would rest upon his chest. He would gently kiss the top of her head and plan their life together.
“Can you hear my heart?” he would say in that special way of those who hold a strong affection. “It speaks of my love.”
Aidan shook his head in anger. In his distraction, he had slowed his pace. Kicking the horse’s flanks, he doubled his efforts to catch the disappearing Brantley Fowler.
“No more,” he growled as he leaned across the horse’s neck to make himself a smaller target. “My heart has forgotten its rhythm,” Aidan had said the words aloud to harden his resolve. “Susan Rhodes means to have Andrew. Andrew Kimbolt, the future Viscount Lexford, my brother. It is why my father bought my commission and sent me to fight Britain’s wars. Not to make me a man. Nor was it as he promised as a means to make my fortune. Nothing more than a ploy to remove me from Lexington Arms, leaving an open door for Andrew to claim the woman I love.”
Very nice, Regina. Thanks for posting.
Nice ones!
This is from Desert Heat:
A wave of despair kicked Mike Malone in the gut, nearly doubling him over.
Warm Arizona air in his face and the sweet perfume of nasturtiums in full bloom made his stomach churn. This time of year–early February–the Jumping Cholla Resort should be packed with tourists escaping bitter northern winters. With the holiday hustle and bustle over, the century-old ranch would normally be bursting at the seams with pale-faced vacationers soaking up Arizona sunshine.
The pool stood empty, the horses grew fat, most of the help had been let go. Besides four long-time friends, the only other resident on the ranch was an old prospector named Skeeter. Because Mike felt sorry for the guy, he let him stay in one of the cabins. Hell, someone might as well use them. No one else could.
http://www.amazon.com/Desert-Heat-ebook/dp/B009LQH8OK/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1351097054&sr=1-1&keywords=desert+heat+D%27Ann+Lindun
Now, that makes me wonder what’s going on. Thanks for posting D’Ann.
Loved it!! And that line about his last unshattered dream… WOW. Fantastic! 😀
Thank you, Karen.
Ella, I LOVE your writing. It’s simply beautiful.
Here’s a small sample from my unedited WIP, Prophecy’s Child.
Kal sighed then focused his mind on the night he’d taken the picture. “Do you remember when I took this photo?”
Katherine nodded, but a wall of long hair blocked his view of her face.
He rested his chin on her shoulder and looked at the picture she held. Over the years he’d memorized every detail. But the one that stood out was the look of untainted love in her eyes. “It was the first time you said you loved me.”
“I remember,” she whispered. She traced the gilded frame with a finger. “We’d just made love. And I told you I loved you.” She chuckled. “You jumped up and took a picture. Not the response I was looking for.”
“I had to capture the moment.” He leaned back, holding himself up with his hands. “Besides, I said and showed you how much I loved you after that.”
Katherine rested the photo against her knees and glanced his way. Her warm brown eyes sent his heart crashing against his ribs. “Yes, you did. Many times.”
“Do you know why I had to take that picture?”
“Not really.”
“Because I wanted to freeze time and stay in that moment forever.” He picked up the picture. “When you said you loved me, I’d never been happier or felt more alive.” He stroked the line of her cheek in the photo. “Or filled with such gut-churning guilt.”
She gasped. “Guilt? Why?”
Kal glanced at her. Unshed tears sparkled behind her lashes and she chewed her plump bottom lip. “Do you have any idea how perfect you are?”
“I’m not perfect—believe me.”
“Yes you are. You’re perfect and oh so achingly beautiful.” With the forefinger of his right hand, he caressed her brow, her cheek, then drew a line around her lips. “And it’s not just your face or your body. It’s your heart and soul.
Tears spilled down her cheeks and she drew in a ragged breath.
“You gave me the most precious gifts a woman can give a man: her innocence and love. And I couldn’t even give you the truth.”
Thank you so much, Brenda. I really appreciate that. You posted a wonderful excerpt. So sweet.
I always love the set up between Marcus and Phoebe. It reveals a lot and sets up for a great reunion between the two of them much later (and I know what happens tee hee)
Here’s an excerpt from my novel Wicked Designs available January 2014, about a duke and his friends the League of Rogues who abduct a young woman, Emily, in order to get revenge on her uncle.
It was now or never. Seizing what might be her only chance, Emily whirled to the left, toward an entry way and a large door not twenty feet away. Clutching her skirts she sprinted towards it, blood pounding in her ears as her fear mounted. A few feet more and she’d be free.
Suddenly she pitched forward, falling flat on her stomach.
The cold stone bit into her hands as she sought to brace her fall. Something hot and hard latched onto her right ankle. Panting for breath, she looked over her shoulder. Godric crouched behind her, a feral glint to his eyes. His chest expanded with obvious effort.
Her pride swelled. He wasn’t used to chasing after women, especially not ones with the intention of getting away.
“I thought I advised against running, Miss Parr.” Godric’s green eyes danced with shadowy merriment, as though they were playing some game.
It infuriated her. This was her life, her freedom!
“Let me go! You have no right to keep me here!” Emily kicked at his hand with her free foot, but he caught her left ankle, and then slid her along the floor on her stomach until she lay beneath his crouched body.
A doe in the glen catching scent of man, Emily lay still, listening to Godric breathe. When he spoke, she ignored him and focused instead on her counter attack. She tensed and flipped onto her back, backhanding him with a sharp crack across the face.
The fingers around her ankles tightened as he growled low in his throat. “The time you spend here can be civil or not. I shall leave it up to you, but know that for every act of defiance I will demand something of you in return.” He exhaled, deeply. She felt it even in her ankle, the move of his body above her. “You may not like the price.”
His face loomed above hers with all the beauty of a vengeful god. With aching slowness he caged her in using his body to trap her. Hers shuddered at the heavy contact as his limbs matched hers. Ice warred with fire along her skin as she fought tremors of excitement. It was as though she faced a lion—raw beauty, extreme power, and a posed threat—yet she couldn’t look away, and wanted to taste his full lips again.
I love this story, Lauren.
Oh, Ella! This is such a wonderful idea! I LOVE it! May I use it for my own blog? Let me know what you think, okay?
I loved reading everyone’s excerpts! My list of books to read is growing huge!
Here is my excerpt, which will be released April 1st:
THE IMMORTAL AMERICAN
by L. B. Joramo
. . . This scene is set in Concord, Massachusetts, early April 1775, when Violet Buccleuch has just about lost everything, and Jacque Beaumont has just come to her rescue. She’s recovering in her bed, while he tells her, what she believes to be a fairy tale about his immortality . . .
Jacque smiled down at me. “I didn’t believe it either. But I’ve been killed so many times, and mother forgive me for I know it to be a sin, but I’ve tried to commit suicide a time or two. I wake up again and again, my heart still beating.”
I cocked my head to the side, and reached up for his said heart, feeling it patter against my hand.
“’Tis a good heart beat.”
He nodded. “You don’t believe me, do you?”
I wasn’t sure if he was trying to tell me the story to distract me from my suffering or if he was even in the least a little serious.
He shrugged. “I’ve since learned Hindi and have gone back to find the man, but I couldn’t find him. I don’t know if I’ll ever die. I’ve been so lonely, Violet. Until I met you.”
He looked down at me then with something dark passing through his eyes. His forehead wrinkled with a thought, but then he inhaled and asked me again. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes . . . I don’t know. Everything about you–it all seems not to be reality. I’ve often wondered if I just imagined you.”
“That I am nothing but a figment of your imagination? I am the opposite of Descartes’ thesis: You think me; therefore, I am.”
“Yes.” I smiled.
“I assure you, I’m real. You are real. I am here and you are too.” His forehead again lined in some kind of worry as he repeated himself, “You are real. I’ve dreamed of you before you were born, a raven-haired beauty with the spirit of my mother’s, and you are so much more than I imaged. I wish . . .”
But he never allowed himself to finish his thought. He lay down over my chest and held me in his arms, and I could not fight my weariness any longer. I loved his lulling story about immortality. What a lovely tale.
Please feel free to check out my website at http://www.lbjoramo.com for more information!
Again, this was just wonderful! Thanks, Ella! Wishing all you talented writers a most creative day!
Loni, that was lovely. Thank you so much for posting.
So many great excerpts here! Brenda, when it this coming out?
My excerpt is from my WIP Betrothal. It’s when the H/H meet for the first time. I apologise if this excerpt isn’t formatted well. My computer is wreaking havoc with it today. 😦
Mere seconds before she would learn her fate. She could scarce affect an indifferent pose before the court when inside every inch of her quivered with anticipation of the name. His name, pray God, on the king’s lips. Thomas. In her mind, she heard the word.
The king straightened, glanced at her, then at the man by her side.
“What say you then, Sir Geoffrey? Does the lady not speak fair? I vow she will make you a proper wife, and a dutiful one as well.”
Alyse turned, until that moment unaware that Geoffrey Longford stood beside her. Chills coursed down her body as the king’s words echoed in her mind. The sensation of falling backward assailed her, as though she rushed away from the tall man at her side even as his figure loomed larger and larger in her sight.
Not Thomas Knowlton.
Her numbed brain repeated the phrase, trying to comprehend that instead he would be her husband. Geoffrey Longford.
God have mercy on me, for by the look of him, this man will not.
Fearful, she cringed as her gaze climbed higher, over his chest, over his chin, finally resting on the dark blue eyes turned toward her.
Geoffrey returned her appraisal, his gaze sweeping her figure as a smile crept over his face. “Your Majesty.” He spoke to the king but his attention remained fixed on Alyse. “When my father told me of the betrothal contract before I left his home, I resolved then to play the dutiful son. Now, however, I find I do not wish to act that role after all.” His eyes held hers as he paused.
Dear God, does he mean to renounce me here before the entire court?
Alyse stared at the man beside her, willing herself to remain upright, despite the waves of ice and fire alternating through her body.
“Now I find I would rather play the ardent lover.”
I love this excerpt, Jenna. Thanks for posting it.
Some wonderful excerpts here, Ella! I wish I had time to read them all. Here’s mine from “An Arranged Valentine,” a traditional Regency novella, available now from Amazon, Barnes & Noble and from http://www.MusaPublishing.com :
Divested of the boots at last, George dispatched Laurence for a pair of shoes more suitable to the house and told the servant he would find him working in the library. He needed to make a note in the account books of the additional amount now owed for the grain. There was another, less tedious, but certainly more difficult, task to complete, as well—the writing of the St. Valentine’s Day verse, the first step in his wooing of Penelope.
George paused at the entrance to the great hall, found neither Sir Robert nor his daughter anywhere in sight, and made haste, his stocking feet noiseless on the cold stone floor. Once in the library, he shut the door behind him and exhaled in relief, grateful that their guests hadn’t caught him running about the place like an errant child, with no shoes on.
“Good morning, Mr. Harburton.”
His heart sank to his non-existent boots. George turned and saw Penelope seated in one of the wing chairs by the hearth, with an open book on her lap and a look of amusement in her eyes.
“Miss…Miss Braxton,” he stammered. “Yes, good morning. I trust you slept well?” Gathering his wits, George embraced his embarrassment and strode forward, seeking the warmth of the fire.
“Yes, quite well, sir. Thank you.” She nodded and smiled, as if finding one of her hosts pacing about, wearing twice-patched stockings, was an everyday occurrence. “I pray I haven’t overstepped by making myself comfortable here with my favourite of Mr. Shakespeare’s plays?”
She held up the volume in question, so he could see the title, The Merry Wives of Windsor.
“Not at all,” he assured her. “But, may I say, what an unusual choice. For I can imagine you enjoying a romantic tragedy such as Romeo and Juliet or even a history, on the order of Julius Caesar, but not a risqué comedy.”
“Do you think I possess no sense of humour, then, Mr. Harburton?” She cast a fleeting look down at his unshod feet.
Very nice, Kadee. Thanks for sharing.
Fabulous excerpts and so many great books to buy!! Here’s mine from Murphy’s Law which released March 4th!
Murphy sat at the kitchen table, half in the shadows created by the soft light glowing above the stove, hair tousled from sleep. Naked to the waist. A bottle of amber liquid sat in front of him, an empty glass in his hand. Her gaze landed on his muscled shoulders and trailed across his tanned chest. So much for getting him out of her mind. Now she had the real thing to dream about. Looking at the dark hairs that veed down his chest and disappeared behind the table, she decided he’d been right. He was a dangerous man.
She tore her gaze away from temptation and looked at the granite lines of his face. Beneath the hardness of his expression, something haunting lingered. Drawn, she circled the table to the opposite end.
Murphy met her eyes with coldness that should have sent her running for the safety of her room, but she remained standing in place. He wanted to chase her away. This time she wasn’t running.
“Mind if I join you?” She grabbed a glass and from the cupboard and reached over his shoulder for the bottle.
His hand snaked out and wrapped around hers, preventing her from pouring a drink.
“I mind,” he growled.
“Well, get over it. I need a drink.”
Scowling, he let go of her hand and allowed her to pour a glass for herself. She refilled his glass next, set the bottle on the table, moved to the chair beside him and sat, lifting her glass.
“Cheers.” She brought the glass to her lips. His gaze as she drained the glass made her fight the urge to cough as the fiery liquid burned its way down her throat. Seconds later she felt the familiar warming sensation as it numbed her insides. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them away and reached for the bottle.
Murphy held it away from her. “What are you doing?”
“Having a drink. I’m not in the mood for warm milk tonight.”
His eyes darkened and narrowed. “You don’t strike me as the drinking type.”
She wasn’t, but tonight it sounded good. Maybe it would soothe away her problems and make her forget how screwed-up her life was. Talking about Kent earlier had brought back painful memories. She didn’t want to feel that misery anymore.
“Maybe you don’t know my type,” she said.
He studied her closely for a moment before rubbing a hand over his face. “Go back to bed, Sara. Sleep it off.”
“I don’t want to sleep it off. I’m tired of thinking about it.”
Maybe it was the whisky, or his naked chest, or the part of her that had been dormant for six years coming back to life. More than anything she wanted to discover it with Murphy, her strong, scarred hero.
She rose to her feet. He watched warily as she stepped in front of him and positioned herself between him and the table. He leaned back in his chair and sent her a thunderous look.
“You and I are alike in many ways, Murphy,” she said softly. “We’ve both lost pieces of ourselves we can’t ever get back and it has forced us into a life of loneliness and solitude. I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being alone.”
He pinned her with a hard glare. “I’m not what you want. Go back to your room before I do something we’ll both regret in the morning.”
His harshly spoken words sent little electrical shocks through her body.
“I’m tired of people telling me what I want.”
Buy Murphy’s Law: http://www.amazon.com/Murphys-Law-ebook/dp/B00BNGXSMW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1363645349&sr=8-1&keywords=murphy%27s+law+by+jennifer+lowery
Thanks, Ella!!
Jennifer, I love this book. Thank you for stopping by.
Not published yet (or even finished), but here’s a little bit from the novella I’m working on. It’s near the beginning, and is one of my favorite parts so far:
She swallowed thickly and allowed him to escort her outside, the scent of roses drifting up from the garden to meet them as they passed through the French doors. The Chinese lanterns hanging in the trees gave off a pleasant glow, and several other couples were strolling sedately along in the cooling breeze. He steered her over to a place of relative privacy near the balustrade, leaning against it as he turned his dark eyes on her.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked softly.
“No, thank you, my lord.”
“She upset you.”
The acrid smell of pipe tobacco drifted their way, obscuring the perfume of the garden. “I have heard it all before.”
His shoulders tensed. “That makes it hurt even more. One disparaging remark can be brushed off, but the same negative opinions articulated over and over will wear on a soul.”
She tilted her head a little, studying his expression in the dim light. One dark brow was set a fraction of an inch higher than the other on his handsome face. “You have weathered your share of ‘disparaging remarks’ then? Son and heir of an earl?”
“Everyone assumes life is easy for me because of who my father is. The truth is I had a difficult time of it my first year at Eton.” He was looking down at the terrace, hiding his eyes beneath a fringe of black lashes. “That is how I met your sister’s betrothed. He helped me foil a particularly determined bully.”
“‘One loyal friend is worth ten thousand relatives’,” she quoted.
He raised his eyes to hers, arching one of the crooked brows in an unasked question.
“Euripides.”
“Of course.”
But that was all. He didn’t mock her, didn’t castigate her for reading ancient Greek playwrights. Kate allowed her lips to curve into a small smile, and Lord Beaumont’s shoulders seemed to ease. The tobacco odor was dissipating, and she could smell roses again.
http://teatimeromance.wordpress.com
http://www.facebook.com/coralee49
Thanks for letting me post, Ella! I can’t wait til yours is released–it looks great!
Very nice, Cora. Thank you for enjoying mine.
Ella your book excerpts are so great. I look forward to grabbing a copy when it hits the market. Big good luck wishes on it.
I have an excerpt from my Navy SEAL over the Edge, It isn’t accepted yet but is a work in progress with a requested partial. I blog at CK Crouch on word press.
Heres the little excerpt:
The doorbell sounded through the thin wood of the door. It wouldn’t be hard to bust in and take care of business. However, a true hunter would wait to see the surprise when his friend opened the door.
Earlier he’d called to confirm that Teddy would be home. Teddy had assured him not only was he home, but he’d appreciate some company since he lived alone. Teddy hadn’t seen any of their squad members in many months.
He turned his head to one side and focused on his task. Yes. His prey was coming to meet the hunter. Excitement coursed through his blood. His knife was ready to send his former friend to hell. The man deserved nothing less. Today was judgment day. Teddy was a murderer and he’d pay for his crime.
Teddy opened the door. His eyes lighted in surprise and joy filled his face.
He stepped forward before Teddy could speak, greeted him with a hug then shoved the knife in hard. Teddy’s eyes met the hunter’s in confusion. His mouth opened but no words escaped.
He greeted his friend. “Hey man, what’d you do? Let’s get inside before you fall out the door. What’ve you been drinking, buddy?”
He edged inside, shut then locked the door. Cradling Teddy’s body in his arms, he strode to the couch and dumped it there.
He removed his knife from Teddy’s body then covered him with a blanket from the back of the couch. Now, another killer would spend eternity in hell. He searched the house until he found the golden military medal. He tossed it on top of Teddy’s body then left.
The night covered him. The dark clothing allowed him to move undetected. No one would connect him to the crime. At the back of the house, the ocean raced in with the tide. The hunter swam to the small boat he’d anchored offshore. He rowed until he was far enough away to crank the motor and disappear.
Next on his list was another buddy who needed reminding he’d committed a crime.
Thank you CK. Great excerpt you posted.
“Chris’ Journey Turning Different Corners”
is a four book romance series. But the first Book in the series,
“Her Journey Begins”
is more than just a romance.
There’s sorrow, pain, laughter, joy, family and friends, all wrapped around a tender sweet love between Chris and Brandon, her high school sweetheart. There will be heroes and heroines, good guys and bad, people you’ll love and people you’ll hate and this is just the first corner. Come cry, laugh, and love with Chris as she begins her Journey Turning Different Corners.
“Chris’ Journey Turning Different Corners”
“Her Journey Begins”
is available at
http://www.amazon.com/Journey-Turning-Different-Corners-ebook/dp/B008NQDUQY
Don’t worry about the picture posting. Thanks for stopping by and sharing.
Sorry, didn’t know it would post the picture 😦
What a wonderful opportunity, Ella. Thank you.
Here’s an excerpt from [B]Highland Promise:[/B]
“If I had my way, I would never see you again. But I am grateful for
past help, so I had to protect you.”
“You have that backward, lass. ‘Tis I who protects you.”
“Truly?” she asked, hands on hips. “Then mayhap you will tell me
why Lady Garwick’s daughter is in your bed, or have you chosen that poor
mouse to be your wife?” Her gaze turned scornful. “‘Tis the truth, I am not
sure if I am saving you or her.”
“Do you think of me as a naive youth, so easily snared by a skirt?” he
demanded, irritated by her low opinion. Then again, that she wanted to
prevent his marriage to someone else was promising. “Have you any
suggestions for what I should do about it?”
“You are welcome to pass the night here.” She released a
beleaguered sigh. “No one in their right mind would suspect any man of
romping with me.”
He cocked a brow. “Do we get to share the same bed?”
“Aye, I have thought about this and—”
He cut her off as his gaze landed on her bundle. “What is that for?”
She followed his gaze, her cheeks turning fiery red, then she cleared
her throat. “Oh, I was ah…just too tired to unpack.”
“You have a chest,” he stated. And where the hell was Michael?
“Well, ah…” She gulped. “If I were going somewhere, why would I
be here now?”
“I have not the answer. Would you care to enlighten me?”
“Nay.” She stepped back and drew herself to her full height. Placing
her hands on her hips, she scowled. “Do you wish to remain here or not?”
She had retreated into angry pride to regain some control, and he
knew control was important to her. He decided to let it go. He was with her
now and would make damn sure she stayed put. The notion struck him that
she had proven her loyalty by sacrificing her chance to flee in order to save
him. If she weren’t in such a foul humor, he would kiss her senseless.
“I’ll stay.” But damn if he wanted her in her present mood. Faith’s
anger and a headache didn’t go well together. He rubbed a hand across the
back of his neck. “I shall stay on the floor.”
“Nay,” she blurted out. “You ah…may take a chill doing so.”
“Take a chill! I am a warrior, not a woman.” He faced her as her gaze
darted toward the bed, then back to him, and he wondered at her
nervousness. “Where would you have me then?”
“I once heard of a Highland custom.” She cleared her throat and
blushed. “‘Tis called ‘bundling’ and allows an unwed man and woman to
share a bed. We shall put a bundle in the middle of the bed and sleep on
opposite sides.”
Brendan clenched his jaw to keep from laughing. The lass had it all
wrong. The custom allowed a man and woman to share a bed before
marriage to discover if they were compatible, but the bundle didn’t belong in
the middle of the bed. The woman’s legs were firmly wrapped into a bolster
and bundled together. Even that didn’t stop some consummations from
preceding the vows.
Of course Faith couldn’t know how appropriate her suggestion was.
Not that he would have her tonight. Nay, she would have to trust him and
remove her disguise before he touched her.
“All right,” he agreed. “We shall do this your way.”
“‘Tis not my way, you exasperating man. ‘Tis yours.”
She walked to the bed, rolled up a blanket, and lined it down the
center of the mattress. “You can have the door side. I always sleep by the
window.”
She removed her slippers and placed them under the bed. Then she
lay fully clothed upon the mattress as rigid as a corpse and closed her eyes.
The only thing missing was the flowers, and he was tempted to run down to
King Henry’s garden to get a few.
All the buy links can be found here: http://www.marymccall.net/Highland%20Promise.html
You’re welcome, Mary. Thank you for sharing.
What a fun idea Ella! I need to send more authors your way for these fun little events. Thanks for sharing with us.
My excerpt is short, and gives nothing away. 🙂 “Alaina Claiborne” is a historical romance published in January.
Across the acres, darkness enveloped another, her surroundings illuminated by the flickering flame of a lamp. Alaina moved around in the attic, searching through trunks of the items that had come from her mother’s cottage in Ireland. It was difficult to see so many memories that reminded her of her parents, but she also found it calmed her. She had avoided these things since they had been delivered years ago, but now her fears became secondary. She hoped that something from her parents’ past would shed light on what was happening in the present. Alaina rummaged through a trunk of some of her mother’s clothes, pulling them out and smelling them, hoping for a faint whiff of the soft rose scent her mother used to wear. There was something lingering around the old clothes, and it took Alaina back to a time when she was a little girl. Nevertheless, the memory ended there. She paused for a moment, as if the scent reminded her of something else besides her mother. She subsequently released the memory when she saw the bottom of the trunk was not as deep as it should have been. She pulled out the remaining dress and ran her fingers along the bottom and edges. She next looked on the outside of the trunk. Nearly six inches of extra space remained near the bottom on the inside.
Alaina felt along the inside edges and became excited when she found a gap. Slowly reaching her fingers into the hole, she simultaneously pushed down on the other edge for leverage and surprised herself when the bottom tilted to reveal the extra space beneath. Removing the thin board, she set it aside and gasped when she turned back to the trunk.
“Oh, Mother. What did you do?”
Find “Alaina Claiborne” at: http://www.amazon.com/Alaina-Claiborne-Volume-MK-McClintock/dp/0615742505/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1358790363&sr=8-1&keywords=alaina+claiborne
What a tease, MK!! Send all the people you want. I do this about once a month.
Is it a spoiler to say things do NOT go exactly as Marcus plans??? I can’t wait for everyone to read your book, Ella!
Here is another excerpt from The Price of a Gentleman. Cain, Lord Ashworth has just discovered his mother is in Town and goes to call on her. He has neglected to tell her he had to sell their unentailed townhouse to his cousin to pay their debts. He hopes his cousin has concocted a story to keep his mother in the dark.
“Good evening, my lord.” Lady Haverley’s ancient butler greeted him and handed his coat and hat off to an equally aged footman.
Rumor had it the only pension servants in her employ could expect was a nice casket and a fresh suit of clothes in which to be buried. He was beginning to believe it. In the dim light of the candles they looked like walking cadavers.
“Good evening, Thompson. Is my mother at home?”
“She most certainly is not at home, Ashworth,” an all too familiar voice announced from the top of the stairs. “She has been forced to beg residence with an old friend because her thoughtless son rented her home to his equally thoughtless cousin for the Season.”
“Hello, Mother.”
He wasted his greeting. Lady Diana Overley had already beckoned him up the stairs and walked away. He followed and alternately thanked his cousin for his quick thinking and cursed himself for not keeping closer watch on his mother’s whereabouts. The last thing he needed was her flitting about London with her tenuous grip on reality and her nonexistent grip on their finances while he dealt with a murder charge.
By the time he reached the family parlor she’d already seated herself regally on the edge of a chaise. She’d been a great beauty in her day. Even now, with her golden hair and pale blue eyes she had the look of an ethereal queen. Tall, graceful and willowy at fifty she still turned heads wherever she went. Her face of disdainful disapproval fixed in place, she indicated the chair in which he, the supplicant, should sit.
Lady Haverley put aside her needlework and crossed the worn Aubusson to greet him. “Good luck, lad,” she whispered as he kissed her plump wrinkled cheek. “She’s in a rare mood.”
“When isn’t she?” he asked.
Her thin hand, heavy with rings, squeezed his shoulder. “She knows about the murder and your arrest. Tread softly.”
“I adore you. You know that, don’t you?” He winked and bowed over her hand.
“Do stop whispering as if I don’t know what you’re talking about, Gertrude.”
“Don’t snap at Lady Haverley, Mother. She’s not the one you’re angry with.”
“I’ll leave you two to visit without my interference.” With a gentle pat on his arm the formidable matron left him alone with Lady Ashworth.
His mother wore her title they way other women wore their clothes. The name “Mother” fit her rather like a ready-made day dress. His mother never wore ready-made anything. Nothing but the finest would do for the Marquis of Ashworth’s widow. Five years had passed and she still wore black, very expensive finely tailored black, but black nonetheless. The hypocrisy of wearing mourning for a man who tried to gamble and whore himself to death before finally doing the deed himself escaped her.
Thanks, Louisa. I can’t wait to read yours.
Some great excerpts! This is from my children’s book Amanda in England – The Missing Novel (many adults enjoy it as well) It can be found on Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008VO1V5A
“Can we stop and look at the gravestones?” asked Amanda.
“What? Why do you want to look at gravestones?”
“I love looking at the dates and inscriptions. I bet there are some real old ones here.”
Leah looked at her and shook her head. “You never cease to amaze me. I figured you were curious and bookish but now I find you’re morbid too.”
Tombstones were scattered about, most of them bent forward or backward. Some large and ornate while others small and plain. Most of the writing was worn off, but Amanda found one that read Amelia Burns 1792 – 1804. She felt a chill run through her body when she realized the person was her age when she died. She couldn’t help wonder what the young girl died of.
The peaceful cemetery smelt of freshly mown grass. Among the many large trees, a huge weeping willow stood in a corner providing protection for the dead.
Leah shouted to Amanda, “Over here, you’ll want to see these.”
Leah stood in a field of daisies. When Amanda joined her she discovered even older gravestones hidden amongst the tall grass and flowers. The writing was completely worn off and chunks had fallen away from the stones. She could barely read a date of sixteen something on one marker. Amanda had never seen such old tombstones. She shivered. The sun had gone behind an ominous cloud.
Amanda felt like she was being watched. ‘It must be being around all these dead people,’ she thought.
Then she saw some movement in the trees. “Leah, did you see that?”
“What?”
“Someone’s in the trees watching us.”
“There goes that imagination again. I better get you out of here before you start to spook me too.” Leah grabbed Amanda by the arm and then let out a scream as a large cat ran in front, almost tripping them, and disappeared behind a gravestone.
A dishevelled older man emerged from behind the willow tree flailing his arms and shouting, “Rupert, come back here this instant.”
I used to love to look at gravestones too, I still do. Lovely excerpt, Darlene.
Thanks so much for the opportunity Ella! I just released All the Appearance of Goodness this morning! It is available on Amazon (kindle, paperback in a coupe of weeks) http://www.amazon.com/Appearance-Goodness-Given-Principles-ebook/dp/B00BWAJ0TE and Barnes and Noble Nook: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/all-the-appearance-of-goodness-maria-grace/1114859665?ean=2940016358277.
Here’s a little excerpt:
Elizabeth straightened and cupped her cheeks with her hands. She pulled in another breath to explain all she remembered of Mr. Darcy, Mr. Collins and the alleged engagement. The words tumbled out so quickly, Lydia would have been hard pressed to interrupt.
“My goodness,” Aunt Gardiner chewed her knuckle, “that is quite a story.”
“Take pity upon me and advise me as to what I should do.”
“You credit me with the Wisdom of Solomon, and I do not deserve such praise.”
“You must! To hear Mama, I should expect Mr. Collins to throw himself at my feet at any moment. Yet Charlotte Lucas insists I should throw myself upon Mr. Darcy’s feet as he is easily ten times the consequence of my cousin.” She threw her hands in the air. “And I cannot discern the character of either one.”
“Have you a compelling reason why you must settle upon one of these gentlemen?”
“I only wish to resolve my confusion. They both carry the appearance of goodness, or at least I believed they did. Now, I do not know if either has the truth of it.”
“I see.”
Aunt Gardiner rose and led her on a turn about the space lit by the windows. “Since I know only what you have told me of either man, I cannot advise you as to the particulars of the matter. However, I may be able to offer you a few thoughts.”
“Yes, anything at this point would be much appreciated.”
“You will not be surprised to hear this is how Mr. Bradley once advised me.”
Elizabeth chuckled. “How did our friend instruct you?”
“He told me a man’s words may lie, but the fruits of a man’s life will always speak the truth of him.”
“I am not certain I understand.”
“Many plants appear similar until they bloom and produce fruit. At that time, one may reliably sort out which is which.”
“Unless they soon sport blossoms and berries like a woman’s hat, how does one find the fruit a man bears?”
Aunt Gardiner’s placid countenance dissolved into giggles. “Can you see your father and uncle parading about town, their hats festooned as the ladies of the ton decorate theirs?”
The picture sprang to her mind, so clear and absurd, Elizabeth bent double laughing. Breathless, she wiped tears from her eyes. “Papa with fruit on his head— that image will haunt me the rest of my life.”
Aunt Gardiner smiled wryly. “I do like a touch of the ridiculous at times. Perhaps, it would be better if men might be judged by their hats. I do not expect that to come to pass anytime soon. So, we must be astute observers of the human condition, a talent which I know you to possess.”
“What am I to observe?”
“What are his relationships like? Will any speak in his defense? Do those who know him respect him? Is he a man of his word? Is he prudent with his money? Generous to those in need? Does he call attention to his virtues, or is he clothed in humility? Does he demand his own way? Is he rude and self-seeking?”
“Some of those are things are not easily seen.”
“No, they are not. Perhaps that is why many look at wealth and consequences and connections instead. They require far less time and effort to discern.”
Elizabeth sighed. “I would rather they simply wear hats.”
“As would I, my dear.” She patted Elizabeth’s hand.
Thanks so much for posting, Maria.
[…] can find three different book excerpts at Austen Authors, Excerpts with Ella (in the comments) and Jane Odiwe! Thanks ladies for hosting […]
[…] can find three different book excerpts at Austen Authors, Excerpts with Ella (in the comments) and Jane Odiwe! Thanks ladies for hosting […]