As I was trying to come up with something different for today, it occurred to me that all authors, published or not, have WIPs. So that’s what we’re going to do today. Please post an excerpt of your WIP. After your excerpt feel free to post your blog, website or both so people can find you.
Here is mine from the currently titled The Courtship of Miss Eugénie Villaret, the 5th book in The Marriage Game.
July, 1816, England
William, Viscount Wivenly, caught a glimpse of white muslin through a thinly leafed part of the tall hedge behind which he’d taken refuge.
“Are you sure he came this way?” a feminine voice whispered.
“Quite sure,” came the hushed answer. “You must be careful, Criseida. If I tell you what Miss Stavely told me in the strictest confidence, you must promise never to repeat what I’m about to say as I swore I’d never breathe a word.”
“Yes, yes,” Miss Criseida Hawthorne replied urgently, “I promise.”
He’d been dodging the Hawthorne chit for two days now, and unfortunately she wasn’t the only one. Will wished he knew who the other woman was.
“Well then,” the other young woman paused. “I really shouldn’t. If it got out, she’d be ruined!”
“I already promised.” Miss Hawthorne wheedled.
After a few moments, the other girl continued. “Miss Stavely said she followed Lord Wivenly to the library, so that they’d be alone, and he’d have to marry her.”
“What an excellent plan.” Miss Hawthorne’s tone fell somewhere between admiring and wishful.
“Well it wasn’t.”
Even thinking about the incident with Miss Stavely, made Will shudder. There were few worse fates than being married to her. Fortunately the lady was not as intelligent as she was crafty. The minute she’d turned the lock, she announced he’d have to marry her. However, she’d failed to take into account the French windows through which he had made his escape.
“What do you mean?” Miss Hawthorne asked.
“Have you heard anything about a betrothal being announced?”
Ella Quinn ~ Author 
Hi, Ella! I have been following you for a short while. lurking, I think is the term. I would like to post an excerpt, but I’m not sure how to do it. Do I post it here in the Comments section? Thank you, Tom 🙂
Yes, Tom. Use the comments to post. Thanks for coming by.
Whenever I see the word muslin I am instantly taken back to the time I fell in love with Mr. Tilney *sigh*.
Well, here is a bit of my WIP, the second book in a paranormal Arthurian Legend series.
“I can teach you.” Lancelot interjected, his deep gaze fixed on Gwen.
His eyes were a heavy weight on her skin, almost palpable, and she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. His regard was nothing new but she spent so long being ashamed of his gaze on her that she wasn’t sure she could learn to like it. Now that she could feel whatever feelings filled her heart it was like she couldn’t make sense of anything, least of all Lance.
The room was quiet. Gwen looked up and everyone’s eyes were fixed on her.
“Oh, thank you, Lance, but I don’t think it would be proper for me to ride your motorbike.”
Maggie snickered again.
“Whatever you wish to learn Gwen, I will teach you.”
The heat in that implication raced through her body and for a moment, just a hint of a moment she was locked in his arms, lips melded against his. There were so many things she could imagine learning in his arms. So many things they never go to do, never got to be.
The room was still too quiet.
http://www.monicacorwin.com
Love the sensuality, Monica. Thanks for posting.
Hi Ella, Love your excerpt. This is an excerpt from my time travel, A Tumble Through Time, currently in edits, to be released June 21st:
Anna was quiet on the walk to the café. Her eyes darted back and forth as she took in the sights around her, all the time fiddling with her ring, spinning the silver and black circle round and round. She continued to draw in deep breaths and chew on her lower lip, muttering ‘not possible’ under her breath occasionally, as if fighting an internal battle. Her natural color seemed to have paled, the light dusting of freckles more prominent.
Once they’d settled in their seats at the café and ordered dried apple pie and coffee, Wes rested his forearms on the table. “Tell me a little bit about this ‘Tulsa.’”
Anna cleared her throat. “It’s in Oklahoma.” She flinched when he shrugged, still not sure what she was talking about.
“Oklahoma. You know, the state south of Kansas?”
He narrowed his eyes. “The only thing south of us is Indian Territory, then Texas.”
“No,” she whispered, licking her lips, her eyes round as saucers.
Wes nodded at the waitress, who placed cups of dark liquid and two cuts of pie in front of them. She glanced at Anna, who stared straight ahead, taking in shallow breaths.
Once the waitress left, Anna nodded, as if she’d made a decision. “Wes, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
She looked him in the eye, seeming to draw strength from within herself. “What year is this?”
The forkful of pie stopped halfway to his mouth. “What?”
Anna licked her lips again and cleared her throat. “Just tell me, please. What year is this?”
He frowned and lowered the fork. “It’s eighteen hundred and seventy. Why?”
Then he leapt forward as Anna’s eyes rolled to the back of her head and her slack body tumbled to the floor.
http://www.calliehutton.com
Thank you so much, Callie. Your’s is great!
“It’s so kind of you to call, Lord Bexley. The flowers you sent are simply lovely, are they not, Lucy?”
Unable to miss the warning tone in her mother’s voice, Lucy sat up straight in her chair and smiled sweetly at their caller.
“Oh yes, indeed. They are undoubtedly the most beautiful I’ve ever received, my lord.”
Of course, she did not mention that they were the first flowers she’d ever been sent by a gentleman. And considering that there were few opportunities to meet eligible gentlemen in the quiet little neck of the woods where the Barlows resided, the arrangement was quite likely to remain the only floral tribute to come her way.
Her ingratiating caller beamed with pleasure. “They were the best I could find at the florist’s, but, of course, they cannot hold a candle to your beauty and sweetness, Miss Barlow.”
Lucy swallowed and forced herself to reply. “You embarrass me with your flattery, my lord.”
“Not at all,” he insisted. “You were quite the belle of the ball, Miss Barlow. I was much envied to be allowed the honor of two dances with you when so many gentlemen had to be turned away.”
‘The ball’ was merely a local assembly and her mother had encouraged her to favor Lord Bexley, but Lucy had not found him objectionable. He was an accomplished dancer and quite distinguished-looking, in spite of the fact that he had at least twenty years over her. At eighteen, she was of an age to be out in society, and Lord Bexley, a wealthy widower from the next town over, was undoubtedly the most eligible gentleman in the county. Recently out of mourning, he was seeking out a new wife, as well as a mother to his three children, and as Mrs. Barlow kept telling her, Lucy should be flattered that he seemed to be favoring her for the role.
Well, she was flattered. Wasn’t she? The number of pretty young ladies far exceeded that of eligible gentlemen, and she didn’t wish to be left on the shelf, did she? With her family in financial difficulties and four younger sisters to be married off, Lucy owed it to them to marry well and do what she could to find them suitable matches as well.
She knew that and was prepared to do her duty and make the best of it, but somehow, when she thought of marriage and children, it was not the kindly Lord Bexley who came to mind. It was the face of the strapping, dark-haired Adonis with laughing gray eyes who lived on an adjoining estate with his younger sister—her bosom friend Jane—who had teased her unmercifully from the time she learned to walk. She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been in love with Andrew Livingston—she’d even asked him to marry her at the age of five when he’d been twelve and about to leave for Eton. He’d laughed and quipped that it would be like marrying his sister, and she’d nursed a broken heart ever since.
She sighed as she always did when she thought of Andrew and his affianced wife, and her mother glared at her. Fortunately, the maid wheeled in the tea cart, and Mrs. Barlow’s attention was mercifully diverted.
“Please do the honors, Lucy. An excellent opportunity to practice your housewifely skills.”
So sad, Susana. Loved your excerpts.
The beginning of a Christmas story due June 15th that I started writing today!
I’m sorry you don’t have anything, Susana. Thank you for coming by.
LOL, smart man. What a divine excerpt. Show’s how crafty he is and who he uh, apparently doesn’t love.
Here is an excerpt from Book Three in the Swamp Magic Series.
Book One (Swamp Magic) available now.
Book Two (Under the Full Moon) Coming June 17th
Book Three- Dead Man Rising WIP
The Society caught them off guard. The attack, brutal and with so many of the new comers and B.E.A.R. members not understanding how large and vast their enemy was, the group far from prepared for such evil.
Now they got what she’d been preaching.
Lily laid her head on Tricks bed, and slowly stroked his arm. Well, the arm not hooked up with the bazillion monitors the doctors attached all over him. Tried to ignore the strong antiseptic smell burning her nostrils and tune out the never ending buzzes and announcements over the hospitals intercom system. She hated hospitals. No real reason for the fear, just did. Even the fluorescent lighting caused her stomach to knot up.
Her hand stayed on his bicep, while her fingers moved back and forth in a near petting fashion, and the realization his body temperature dropped more hit her.
His skin, so cold it simply didn’t seem natural. His pallor pale and now looked more gray than anything else. Last night the staff assured her Trick’s vitals appeared to be doing much better.
Something changed during the night. Trick seemed to be giving up and no one could explain why.
The shrill sound of a siren went off and she lifted her head as the sounds of numerous footsteps thundered in their direction sparing a frightened glance at
Trick.
Though he made no sounds or movements, she sensed him leaving them.
Leaving her.
http://www.bobbiromans.com
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Thanks for having us Ella!
🙂
Bobbi
Thanks so much, Bobbi. Your’s is so sad. Great job!
Thanks Ella! As a newbie, both to your site and to writing novels, I don’t know if you have any restrictions in terms of subject matter, language, etc. As with the novel, the title, Revolutionary Murders, is a WIP, but it takes place in 1775 Boston.
“Pulled th’ lass outta that, yer Excellency.” The corporal pointed to a shabby three-sided shed barely visible through the morning mist.
There was a chilly wind swirling among the buildings and standing in the lee of a large house, three soldiers along with two members of the Night Watch, were huddled together like Antarctic penguins.
“Thank you, Corporal.” The major walked toward the lonely structure followed by the corporal and a young lieutenant.
“God a’mighty stench ‘tis, too, yer Excellency.”
“Yes, I noticed that, corporal. Thank you.” The major held a scented handkerchief to his nose and pulled his cloak tighter around him and surveyed the scene.
“How did you find her, corporal?”
“The Night Watch heard some stray dogs letting out a turrible caterwaulin’ and went fer a check. One of ‘em saw foot tracks and some blood ‘n when the lads went to look in this ‘ere garbidge pit, they smelled ‘er. They come and got me and we saw her ‘n pulled ‘er up. Blanket wuz ‘round ‘er.”
A choked gasp was heard to the Major’s left. He turned. “Lieutenant Applegate, you’re not going to… ah, you are. Right.” Applegate vomited noisily to the side, tried to cover his mouth, looked back at the body and vomited again.
“Sorry, sir,” the young officer wiped his mouth on a handkerchief he’d pulled from his sleeve, “it’s just that…”
“Quite, quite. You’re new. You’ll get used to it, I should think. Death, I mean.”
Applegate grimaced doubtfully and remained looking away from the remains of the filthy shape on the ground. Her dirty white legs were visible from her knees down. One stocking remained. A darkly stained blanket still partially covered her.
“For God’s sake, cover that, will you, Corporal!” Major Barnes nodded toward the body and re-covered his nose with his handkerchief as a gust wafted the smell their way. Applegate thought he saw the Major gag behind the handkerchief and felt a bit vindicated.
“Roight y’ are, yer Excellency.” Corporal Reilly turned to the shivering soldiers huddled by the house. “You, there! Huggins, is it? Throw that blanket over ‘er. Ain’t you got no sense o’ decency!”
Huggins left the relative protection, leaned his musket against the structure and spread the soiled blanket over the dead girl, all the while cursing the corporal under his breath. “Fookin’ gillie!” Thought, “why do I get the fookin’ bog-jumpers?” Huggins was himself half-Irish, near as he could recollect from the stories he’d heard from his ma when she was drunk, but his own ethnicity made no difference to his prejudices.
Great job, Tom. Thanks for stopping by and posting.
A timely post for WIP–I’m working on the sequel for Lady Scandal (current title Lady Chance), and I have an opening, but I’m not sure if it’ll stay this way…that’s the thing with a WIP, but here it is….
“You ill-begotten, miserable beast! You do not deserve the attention I’ve wasted on you! You…you ungrateful ass!”
Major Giles Taliaris turned toward the voice—a woman’s voice, her tones—if not her words—melodic, cultured, and very much out of place on this dusty Spanish road. Scrubby trees, a rise in the road, and an overturned wagon, hid the woman from view, but Giles frowned over the memories that stirred. Ah, but no—it could not be. The woman switched her curses to Spanish—no words a lady should know—and Giles winced with sympathy for the unfortunate fellow caught in such a barrage. This fishwife must be berating her husband. He started to turn away. He had pressing matters before him, the English army at his heels, and a lack of horseflesh due to the disasters of the day. But the woman switched again to English, and Giles swung around, his jaw slack and shock tight in his chest.
He held up a hand to delay his men. Mon Dieu, but he had heard that voice before. Old memory came clear and, for an instant, he stood again next to the sea that divided France from England, salt air on his face, a girl in his arms—her hair spilling long and golden in the dawn—a hasty parting, and a longing left behind. Ten years it must be, and still he had that longing. However, it had been honed by time and hard campaigning to something as simple now as a farm in Burgundy, with strong vineyards, a comfortable house, and no cannons. That, however, must wait until he had discharged this last duty to his Emperor.
His duty tugged at him now, dug into his side like a spur. They had to move, and quick. English forces hunted any Frenchmen who had not fled Vitoria. Giles’s stomach turned at how this day had gone—a bungled mess, this battle. No support where it was needed, the heavy artillery abandoned—horses stripped from their traces so men might flee north and east. The French army had scattered to the hills and north along the river. Baggage wagons, such as this one in the road, and almost everything else—cannon included, left behind. Thankfully, the English were kept busy with the content of those wagons—another reason to be quick about this business.
But how could his English girl be here? Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his face, he glanced at his men.
Three of them—hand picked for their skills. He trusted these men with his life, but they were not the sort to trust with any lady. Oh, Dufour might be well enough—‘Chapeau,’ he had been dubbed, for he would doff his hat to any woman. But the other two—Giles pressed his lips tighter.
They had heard the English girl. And he saw the eager interest exchanged in their looks. Cut-purses and naves, all three. Now he could curse himself for his selection. But he could drive them as he willed with the reminder that the English roamed this road to Salvatierra, and would take any French stragglers as prisoner. But all changed when the English girl’s ass let out a bray that shook the evening.
An ass indeed—not a man, but an honest beast. She had been cursing the animal, a healthy one to judge by its protest. Giles let out a soft sigh.
Already Chapeau had straightened his tall bulk, and little ‘Chaput,’ that wiry Irishman, Roche, who talked too much, grinned, his eyes bright. Giles knew their thoughts—a donkey to pack their gear—for there had been no mounts to spare. He knew his hand forced when he heard the chickens cluck.
Mynatt straightened from leaning on his rifle. “Ah, bien sur. She has food—she must have wine as well.”
“Shall we have us an answer?” Roche said, shouldering his weapon, his French marked by a thick Gaelic burr.
Giles held up a hand again. Resentful looks answered him, but his men stopped, and he stepped forward. “I know her. I will deal.”
Roche looked as if he would protest, but Chapeau laid a large hand on the Irishman’s lean shoulder. Mynatt merely looked at Giles, his dark eyes sullen. Turning his back on them—always a risk with these three—Giles stepped around the wagon. He strode up the dusty rise and stopped at the crest, his pulse quicker than it should be for so little exertion. He could see her now, standing in the road where it dipped and turned, not close enough to bring her features sharp, but he knew that tumbled golden hair and slender frame. The years had not changed her that much.
Tugging on the lead to a gray donkey, she shook her head. A bonnet had fallen back to dangle by its ribbons, leaving her disordered hair shimmering in the hot summer sunlight. Dust clung to the hem and sleeves of her dress—a riding habit, he would guess. It looked much abused by trying to lead her donkey.
“Oh, devil take Conchita for leaving us. And that cousin of hers! I should have known better—he brought me you! Now, please, Sir Albert. I do not want to take a stick to your worthless hide.”
“Oh, your Albert is worth a good deal, Mademoiselle Diana,” Giles said, walking forward and putting a swagger into his stride.
Hi Ella! Great excerpt! Here is mine – called “Surrender To You”, a contemporary romance (and highly unedited! – although I did try and find a scene that was rather tame, hehe). 😀 My blog is http://www.cassandrajaney.com ENJOY!
———————-
Grateful for the opportunity to walk away, I opened the hallway cabinet and pulled out a towel. Re-entering the living room, I stopped short at the sight of Stefan’s bare chest. He was using his shirt to rub his head dry and the muscles in his arm held me transfixed. And his chest… he wasn’t ripped, but I didn’t see an ounce of fat anywhere.
Who was this buff man? I guess I should have noticed how strong he was when he’d held me up against the wall in that room upstairs at his mothers house really. It was too bad I’d made him off-limits to myself because I really wanted to jump his bones right now.
Clearing my throat, I made my presence known and he glanced up just as he started using the shirt to dry his chest. Holding it out, he took the few steps forward to grab it from my hands and had the audacity to wink at me while doing so.
“Thanks, honey.”
I didn’t bother correcting his use of the endearment. I was feeling a little emotionally raw just having him in my living room, half naked. Attempting to make friendly conversation, I put my hands behind my back and looked down at the floor.
“So, I guess you work out huh? When did that happen?”
“About a month after you left. I thought maybe if I buffed up, I could find me another girlfriend.”
Ouch. I guess I deserved that. But I could give as good as I got.
“Looks like that didn’t work out so well for you, considering you’re still single and all.”
Stefan’s bark of laughter had me looking up from the floor and to his face. It didn’t stop there though.
Lightning fast, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me against his body. Stiffening, I put my arms against his chest and pushed, but as I’d guessed, it was futile.
I was trapped. He’d come all the way to my place and I’d been dumb enough to let him in.
“Relax,” he suggested gently, the deep and soft timbre of his voice sending shivers down my spine. “I know you want me.”
Scoffing, I let out a laugh of my own. “You wish.”
Dropping the towel to the floor, he wrapped his hand in my hair and pulled slightly, baring my neck but keeping his eyes on mine.
“Knock it off, Ellie. Just admit you want me and I’ll let you go.”
“I don’t believe you,” I whispered. “You followed me all the way home. I thought I’d escaped then.”
“Mistake number one,” he murmured back. “Tell me you want me.”
“No. I don’t want you. Let me go and leave me be.”
“Liar. Now it’s I who doesn’t believe you.”
Sliding his hand down to my ass, he yanked me against him, his arousal evident.
“I want you Ellie. I’ve always wanted you and I’ve finally decided to do something about it. I’ve spent five long years longing for you. I’ll be damned if I pass up another chance to have you all to myself.”
I whimpered, unable to do anything as the emotion in his voice elicited butterflies in my tummy and a speeding up of my heart.
I was in trouble and I wasn’t sure I wanted to escape.
I love your WIP. Ella! Can’t wait to see how it develops.
Here’s my excerpt from my WIP, The Duke’s Frozen Heart…
She continued speaking. “Grentham believes that they will attempt to kidnap me at the Ovington ball this weekend. Everyone in the ton will be there, so it will be a sterling opportunity for them, as it will be so crowded.”
“You must stay home Victoria. I won’t allow you to go!” Tristan was vibrating with fury.
She understood his fear but refused to be cowed. “You certainly don’t believe you can dictate to me, Your Grace.” She tilted her head back and stared into his eyes. “What I can’t and won’t allow, is these people to dictate my life to me. I will go and stay close to you and my friends. Nothing will happen.”
Standing within the circle of his arms, she reached up her hand to caress his cheek. He nuzzled his mouth in the palm of her hand and kissed it. Tristan caught her up against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.
His voice was muffled in her shoulder, his head buried there, although he was so much bigger than her. “I cannot lose you now that I have found you. I don’t think I could survive it.”
Victoria smoothed his silken hair as if he was a child. She loved that this strong, elegant man could reveal such depth of emotion to her. His vulnerability made her love him that much more.
She kissed him firmly and gently on his lips. “You won’t lose me, my darling. I love you too much. Now kiss me.”
Tristan left her standing in the center of the room. He went to the door and turned the key in the lock. With a predatory smile, he scooped her up into his arms. She squealed and gasped. “What are you going to do?”
He laughed. “I am going to have my wicked way with you, my love. Let me love you my sweet.” Victoria sighed and placed her head on his shoulder.
Very nice, Nancy!!
making an escape through French windows–the devil!
LOL, Angelyn. Wait until you see what he does to get away from the next one.
From my current WIP, Honky Tonk Angel:
So focused on the task at hand, she didn’t look up when someone parked behind her.
She dropped the lug wrench and said a really dirty word. Then she kicked the tire a few times. It didn’t help, but she felt a little better. She bent over, picked up the lug wrench again and placed it back on the lug. With a mighty push, she tried to loosen the obstinate thing.
“Need help?” A deep male voice inquired. “Although I was enjoying the view. You kicking that tire was especially entertaining.”
Shiloh gave up. She dropped the wrench and turned to glare at the unhelpful commentator. Her mouth dropped open when she recognized Dillon Travers. Retired country music superstar. Handsome beyond words with cynical green eyes peering at her from under the brim of a black Stetson. Full lips curved into a half smile. A jade colored shirt with pearl snaps and snug Wranglers screamed sexy. His low heeled cowboy boots somehow made his legs look longer than they probably were.
Wearing her work uniform, a red patterned shirt tied under her breasts, short denim skirt and brown cowboy boots, she felt like Daisy Duke. Had she seen her panties when she’d bent over to pick up the tool? Heat climbed up her cheeks. She hadn’t expected to find anyone on the lonely country road, much less a man too sexy for his jeans.
She found her voice. “You’re Dill—”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just skip all that, okay?” He reached for the forgotten lug wrench and applied it to the impossibly stuck bolt. As if it were brand new, it turned. He didn’t even have to strain. Before she could react, he placed the spare on the axle and began tightening the screws. With each turn of the tool, his shirt pulled tight across his shoulders. Muscles worked under the fabric and Shiloh swallowed.
Very nice, D’Ann. I loved how he doesn’t want to talk about himeself.
I think Wivenly is quite the rogue! Can’t wait to read more about him! This excerpt is from the beginning of Only Marriage Will Do, which I just sent off to my editor. Amiable Dawson is calling on an old friend and runs into another drama.
The maid had gotten as far as asking “Who may I say . . . .” when a man’s raised voice followed by a woman’s rang out from inside the house.
“No! I don’t believe you!”
“I do not care what you believe. It is true, I tell you!” The sharp terror in her voice sent a chill through Amiable.
Used to making quick decisions, he pushed past the stunned girl and strode down the hall toward the source of the commotion. He burst through the doorway, expecting to defend the woman he loved, only to stop dead at the sight of pursed lips and frowning brows set in the lovely face of a complete stranger.
The woman’s big brown eyes widened and she gasped as if in relief. Her honey-blonde hair, swept up beneath a fashionable lacy mobcap, straggled into fetching wisps. Dressed in a deep pink striped gown that accentuated her curvaceous figure, she motioned toward Amiable.
“Here he is.” The charming creature flung the words at the scowling man who stood before her. “Now you will have to believe me!”
Amiable had the quick impression of a sullen young man of medium height, dressed foppishly in a robin’s egg blue satin coat that dripped with too many layers of frothy lace at throat and wrists. Then the enchanting blonde ran to his side, reaching up to graze a kiss over his cheek and whisper the frantic words, “For God’s sake, help me! Just agree with whatever I say.”
Never one to deny a damsel in distress, he smiled down into the pleading face. He grasped her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze, to signal his acquiescence to her request.
“Whatever is the matter, my dear?” Amiable had no idea what might be required of him, but five years as a captain with the 44th Regiment of Foot had honed his wits to a razor sharp point. He could play his part, even with little information. Let the lady lead and he’d follow as well as he could.
Her look of relief spoke volumes. Something about the man terrified her. Either the fop himself or some threat he carried. Amiable figured to make short work of him either way. The woman smiled nervously then took a deep breath.
“My dear,” she nodded toward the other man, “may I present Viscount St. Cyr? Philippe, this is my husband, the Earl of Manning.”
Great excerpt, Jenna!!
Hi, Ella! I actually don’t have a current WIP, because I submitted my latest historical romance to my editor and haven’t decided what I want to start on next.
But I can post an excerpt from the submitted manuscript. It’s a post-Civil War romance title, The Physician’s Irish Lady.
Dr. Elliot James studied his notebook as passengers stepped off the train. He’d be relieved to disembark at York, the next station. His trip to the medical conference in Philadelphia had been a huge success. The new techniques would aid his small practice encompassing the town of Fairfield and the neighboring rural area.
A crash and commotion a few seats behind him, sent his head swiveling.
“I think she’s fainted,” a man said.
Elliot glanced back at a young woman sprawled in the aisle. Her bonnet had slipped from her head, revealing red-gold hair. The conductor patted her cheeks in an effort to revive her.
Elliot rose from his seat. “Allow me to take a look.”
The conductor gave way as Elliot sank to the floor. The woman’s eyes were closed, but her chest rose steadily with each breath. He grasped her wrist checking for a pulse. A long strand of hair had come loose from her bun. He pushed the silky strand away from her pale cheek.
“She’s not dead, is she?” The conductor’s shaggy brows drew down in concern.
“No, she likely just fainted. Help me get her into the seat beside me. I’ll see if I can revive her.”
Elliot and the conductor lifted her into the window seat. Elliot turned and faced the remaining passengers. “Is anyone traveling with this woman?”
Five men and two women shook their heads.
“I think she boarded alone,” the conductor offered.
“Fine then.” Elliot turned toward the woman, where she lay against the back of the seat, before he dug in his bag. Pulling out smelling salts, he lifted one of the vials under her nose and held the back of her head.
She coughed. Her eyes flew open, then widened. “What…where am I?”
Elliot nodded at the conductor who hovered over the seat. “I’m sure she’ll be fine now. I’ll take care of her for now.”
The conductor nodded, then strode ahead to assist new passengers to board.
“You’ll be fine, Miss. I’m a physician. It seems you fainted in the aisle.”
“Fainted?” she sputtered.
“Yes.” He glanced at the station. “Did you wish to disembark here?”
“’Tis York I be needing to go.” She leaned forward clutching her stomach.
Elliot studied her. “Are you ill?”
A loud growl rose from her gut. Her lips quivered into the semblance of a smile. “Just a wee bit hungry, ‘tis all. I’ll be fine.”
Elliot frowned. “Tell me, when did you last eat?”
“I—ah, I can’t be sure.”
I love that excerpt, Susan. Thanks for stopping by.
Hi Ella, What a lovely idea, and so fascinating to read everyone’s excerpts, here’s mine… This is from the sequel to, Illicit Love, my first book which was released on May, 2nd. The sequel is the story of the lead male’s brother, it won’t be much behind Illicit Love…
‘To give her fingers something to do, Jane applied her black lace fan in a swift sweep beneath her chin and looked up at the call of a new arrival. The footman positioned at the head of the stairs rapped his staff on the wooden floor and announced the guest whose name was swept away by the tune of the Venetian waltz flooding the room. Yet when the imposing male stepped forward, Jane’s heart stopped, as did the movement of her fan.
Lord Robert Marlow, the eleventh Earl of Barrington, was the last person on earth she wished to meet. Or perhaps––her heart set up a wild and anxious rhythm––he was the person she most wished to. But not like this, not in her blacks, when she did not look her best.
Blushing and lifting her fan a little, hiding the lower half of her face, Jane set it back into motion, cooling her hot skin and peering over its top, unable to tear her eyes away from the man. She had not seen him for years, not since they had both been young, innocent, and naïve. He looked much changed, more confident, stronger, more self-possessed, more handsome, taller, too, and broader.
He surveyed the gathering from his vantage point at the top of the stairs as though everyone was in his command, looking as if he assessed and judged.
She’d considered this meeting thousands of times in the years since their last, and she’d pictured herself armoured in sophistication, elegant, someone he would respect and admire. Yet now the time was near, she felt everything the opposite.
The gulf he’d left in her life ripped open wider. He was magnificent––she insignificant. If he’d been attractive as a nineteen year old youth, he was a demigod as a man in his late twenties. His physique was muscular, yet lean and athletic. His hand rose and swept long fingers through his chestnut coloured hair, swiping a loose lock from his brow. A gesture she had seen him do a hundred times as a child.
Still, he did not move, just looked, watching, his stance dominant and confident.
That had not been there in the zealous, full-of-adventure and expectation youth. She felt tears glitter in her eyes and an ache in her chest, inspired by the could-have-beens and if-onlys which had haunted her throughout her married life.’
Great to share,
Best wishes,
Jane 🙂
Very nice, Jane. Thanks for posting.
Oh, Ella, I love this idea too!!! I’m excited about Tom’s excerpt–well, everyone’s but we Revolutionary writers have got to support each other!!!
Here is mine:
November 1775, Outside Quebec . . .
Like usual my curiosity got the better of me. “Parlez-tu du Français?”
Mac nodded again.
“How many languages do you speak?”
He took a slow breath in and looked to the ceiling—ha! A ceiling over our heads, instead of the stars and haunting moon. Will wonders ever cease?–then his gaze fell upon me again. “I’ve never counted before. I, honestly, don’t know.”
I chuckled. “Braggart.”
He coughed a laugh himself. “I’m not trying to be.”
I patted his shoulder. “I know.” I didn’t want to release my hand from him. I couldn’t. I wanted to keep touching his warmth, how hard his muscles felt under my fingertips, how those muscles twitched when he moved. Somehow, through brutal force really, I retracted myself from him though.
“How many languages do you speak,” he paused for just a second, “Violet?” When he’d said my name he whispered it so quietly.
“Latin, Greek, French, Algonquian, a little Spanish, oh, I don’t speak it well, but a little Scottish Gaelic . . .”
“Now who’s the braggart, that is an impressive list so far, and you’re not even done.”
“No, no. I think I’m done.”
“And the King’s English.”
“Aye.” I couldn’t help but giggle. I don’t know why.
“When I was down in South America, I had to learn a lot of Spanish and Portuguese.”
“Oh, teach me some Portuguese, please.”
He took another long sip of a breath while he again perused the ceiling. Something in him softened when he finally looked down at me. He gave me a shy smile. “Eu caio em amor com você.”
“Eu caio em amor, does that mean love? Are you teaching me to say I love something? Hopefully not something ridiculous.”
He shook his head. Then repeated the phrase. “Eu caio em amor com você.”
I did the same. “Eu caio em amor com você. Did I pronounce it right?”
“Perfectly.”
“What does it mean? What did you make me say?”
His eyes lit up with a mischievous glow, but he never answered me.
I smacked him on the shoulder I was beginning to like more than I should. “You did make me say something ridiculous, didn’t you? What, that I love toads or something?”
He shook his head again. “You have to find out.”
“Oh, that’s monumentally unfair. Where in Quebec am I going to find someone who speaks Portuguese?”
He softly chuckled. “There are sailors. When we get close to Quebec City, you could happen upon a Portuguese sailor.”
“I doubt it.” I gave him another jab. “Say it again, so I can memorize it.”
He complied. “Eu caio em amor com você.” But before I could repeat he added, “Mas você só podia achar me um monstro.”
“Monstro, is that monster? Are you speaking of monsters?”
He gave me a quick sad grin. “I have a felling, you will find out soon enough.”
Thank you, Ella!! That is from the next in my Immortal American series. Anyone can read more about the series at my website http://www.lbjoramo.com or my blog at http://lbjoramo.com.
I hope you and everyone here are having a beautiful day!!!
That’s wonderful, Lani. Thanks so much for coming by.
I’m having way too much fun reading these! Nice idea Ella 🙂 Let me add from my current WIP, the prequel to the Love & Vengeance, another tale of Rome Tears & Vengeance –
Ganius stumbled out of the main room. The festivities became overwhelming. The wine’s bitter taste now turned rancid to his tongue and he had to leave before anymore was dumped down his throat.
Once he stepped outside, the sounds from the gladiators were muted and cool air breezed over him. He stood, breathing, his eyes shut, trying to regain his balance. It was one thing to drink wine of a better quality and in welcoming environment verses massive amounts of tepid, drank just for distraction.
Instantly, his thoughts were distorted when he sniffed the scent of almonds in the air. It seemed familiar but he couldn’t place it. Damn wine! Defenses locked into place as he slowly opened his eyelids and took a gander about the place.
There before him stood the most enticing creature he could imagine at the moment. She was lithe-looking. Bronze hair piled on top of her head, ringlets of curls falling over her bare neckline. Ivory colored skin that looked like it’d been bathed in milk. The silk dress clung to her form, displaying her breasts – ones that were not large but better than none – well, draped around her small waist and flared slightly over her curved hips, the type designed to cradle a man’s legs as he dove into her. The very thought made his cock twitch.
When she licked her lips, the hot impulse to take her shot down to his groin.
But she was forbidden. She was his domina. For love of the gods…
Neither moved. He frowned. Perhaps she really wasn’t there but a ghost sent to tease him.
Then, a slow smile came to her rosy lips and she took a step closer.
“Ganius,” she whispered. “Fabulous win today. If the gods allow, you will be champion one day.”
“The gods,” he scoffed. “They had nothing to do with it. We were pitted against children in a man’s game, nothing more.” He could have bested both men but he wouldn’t tell her that. In a way, he rather liked the admiration. It also irked him, to hear it from a Roman.
Her eyebrows rose. “Honest admiration hidden in playful jest.”
He wasn’t joking but grinned lazily. She was way too innocent to be here in this ludus. When she took another step closer to him, he tensed. That slight movement sent messages to every part of his body – signals he bet she didn’t mean to send on purpose. His cock hardened at the sway of her hips and the glimpse of her pearled nipples through that thin fabric she wore. If she had any hint, she’d run from him.
Instead, she reached out and her fingers caressed the corner of his lips. The soft touch ignited a flame inside him, the beast pacing. He grabbed her wrist. “You must stop. Temptation can emerge unstoppable to continue.”
She tilted her head, biting her lower lip. “’tis only a drop of wine I cleared. Nothing more intended.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her bare toes curl on the stone floor. She was lying.
“How can I help you, domina?” The words gritted out of his mouth and he let her arm go. She was desirable. And she was a damn Roman. The war raged inside him. He so wanted her…and needed to walk past her. Just what did she want?
She played with her bottom lip. Obviously she was nervous but he caught the sparkle in her hooded gaze.
He couldn’t take it. The wine coursing through his veins fed his base feelings, stirring the monster more the longer he remained this close to her. Despite all his inner disgust and hatred at the Romans, plus his plans to gain his freedom either by escape or becoming champion, he wanted her.
With gentle ease he himself couldn’t believe, his arm encircled her narrow waist and pulled her against him. She gasped with surprise but didn’t try to leave him. The almond scent that was her, light, enticing, with a hint of honeysuckle, tugged at his senses. She looked at him, confused, yet he saw the longing though he bet she didn’t know for what. The hardened nipples teased at him when they collided with his bare chest. They were the tips of firm mounds he longed to hold, to suckle. And he knew his stiff cock nestled against her lower stomach, begging to be buried inside her. So soft, warm, a hint of cleanliness enrapt in the body of Roman woman he held.
He could forget her parentage just for the moment.
At her silence, the gleam of her gaze told him what he wanted to hear – or the wine made him think so. “Mayhap I can help you this way.”
Before he could stop himself, he kissed her.
http://ginadanna.com
Well done, Gina. I’m so glad you stopped by.
What a great excerpt, Ella! I can’t wait until your first book is released 😀
Here’s my contribution:
John Kendall, Earl of Wrexham sat in the bow window at White’s with a copy of the Times in his lap, ignoring Brummel and his lot as they passed judgment over the pedestrians walking by. John didn’t even bother longing for his own quiet library, having bowed some years ago to Society’s demand that he play the very public part of the Powerful Earl. That he was a powerful earl, among the ton and in the House, only made things worse, for with his position came certain obligations—many of which were ridiculous.
Like pretending to care which gentleman Brummel was nattering on about, and what the poor chap had done or not done with his cravat.
John dragged an empty chair closer to himself and kicked his feet up on it. He stretched his long legs and brushed off Brummel’s irritated gaze with an indifferent one of his own. If he was required by convention to be here, then at least he’d be comfortable.
“Ah, Wrex, I thought I’d find you here.”
He glanced up to find his closest friend, Charles, Viscount Lindsey, striding toward him, a tired grin on his face. John reciprocated and took his feet down. “I see your wife finally let you out of your leading strings.”
Lindsey plopped down in the offered chair with a chuckle, but his eyes were serious. “More like threw me out of the house. She swears she’s fine, and that if I don’t get out of her hair at least once in a while she’ll never grow to miss me.”
John allowed his grin to widen a little, but read the meaning behind the viscount’s expression. Lady Lindsey was indeed well enough as she neared the end of her second pregnancy, but her husband was anxious about the outcome.
And with good reason. John remembered the birth of their daughter, remembered holding tightly to his friend as he sobbed when it looked hopeless for the babe and her mother. He would never have intruded on the man’s grief, except that a friend had done the same for John when he’d lost his father. Despite his embarrassment at the display of emotion, having a steadfast pair of arms around him had been an anchor for his drifting soul.
Until he’d lost his senses.
But this was not about that. Better to focus on the Lindseys.
“I suppose you hired the best physician in the Home Counties to sit with her while you’re out?”
Lindsey turned his face into the sun streaming through the glass, the light glinting off hair almost as dark as John’s. “Actually, Charlotte’s mother and sister arrived for a visit yesterday, and they are sitting with her.” He glanced back at John. “They assured me she was in capable hands.”
Oh God. It was about that.
Them.
Her.
Here.
http://coraleeauthor.wordpress.com
Very nice, Cora. I can’t wait to read your books either.
You just have to wait longer for mine 😉
You’ll get there, Cora. Perservance.
😀
Poor Wivenly. Being the fox to a pack of female hounds has to be a bit disconcerting!
Here is another excerpt from Wicked in His Arms.
For the most part when men looked at her she was either irritated or amused. Dashwood had looked at her with the same intense gaze from the moment they met. She’d been foolish enough to call it love. It’s a bitter lesson to learn the difference between lust and love. Especially on a stage set for the performance of a heartless rake to an audience of sycophant dogs. His words, his looks, his very touch had all been a lie. She’d held onto that for eight years. Painted with that brush she wanted nothing to do with the entire species. They were all the same. She’d never had anything with which to compare it and she was happy with her certainty. Until Dylan Crosby, damn him.
Eve leapt up from the table. She caught the cup she’d upended and settled it back in the saucer. Two vicious bites finished off her toast. She crossed the thick carpet to the window seat and sat down hard. This was utterly ridiculous. Dashwood’s touch had excited her body. It had also confused her. The girl she’d been had let him awaken a passion she’d feared and now loathed. It was just a faint memory and had never been more than that. A response born of her childish ideas of how she was supposed to feel and respond because she thought she loved him and worse, that he loved her. It had been awkward with flashes of desire. And for the last eight years she’d left it all exactly where it belonged – in the past.
A look, a rich rumble of a voice, a few seemingly harmless touches and two not so innocent kisses of her hand had changed it all in a single afternoon and evening. Such dreams she’d had! A hot blush swept over her, so deep and warm she leaned her cheek against the chill of the window pane. This man was dangerous. He created sensations so vivid and erotic as to cast Dashwood’s as tepid tea compared to the promised banquet of Dylan Crosby.
“Oh, dear Lord,” Eve muttered and pushed herself out of the window seat.
“I thought we agreed you’d call me Dylan.”
Hahaha, great excerpt, Louisa. I loved that last line.
Love your excerpt Ella, your series is going to be excellent reading. 🙂
Here is an excerpt from mine, Navy SEAL Over the Edge:
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.
Thanks, C.K., wonderful excerpt.