I have company in from the States, so I’m leaving it up to you. Strut your stuff and post an PG excerpt of reasonable length from your finished word or WIP. You may also post buy links or contact links. I’m off to play tour guide. Have fun!
Her is my excerpt from The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh, which releases for pre-order in June!
October 25, 1814, Marsh House, London
Miss Anna Marsh was in her parlor reading, when her maid, Lizzy, entered and held out a grubby piece of paper.
“Came from my brother, Kev, this morning,” Lizzy said.
Anna nodded, took the note, and opened it. She perused the contents then closed her eyes. “I’m going to have to find a way to convince Mamma to allow me to remove to Marsh Hill before the Little Season has ended. Though I cannot do anything until after Lady Phoebe’s wedding.”
“That bad, miss?” her maid asked, screwing up her face. “You might have a time of it. I heard Lady Marsh was planning to go to some country house next week.”
Anna sighed. Ever since her brother Harry’s death, Mamma had become difficult. “She probably expects me to go with her.” Anna shrugged. “Well I cannot. Someone has been sniffing around Thanport. I don’t like the sound of it.” Anna rose and walked over to her mahogany writing desk. She opened a drawer. Eschewing the neat stack of elegant pressed paper, she pulled out a piece of the distinctly rougher type. “I’ll write Kev and tell him to lay low until I can get there.”
K
No information exchanged or meetings scheduled until I arrive.
A
She sealed the message and handed it to Lizzy. “Make sure this goes out to-day, even if you have to take it yourself.”
“Yes, miss.”
Anna pinched her upper nose. “I do hope this is not going to make our lives even more complicated.”
“What do you think that other man wants?” Lizzy asked.
“I don’t know.” Anna shook her head. “But I have a feeling whatever it is will do us no good. I’m going to Mamma and try to talk her around. I do wish she and Papa could settle their differences.”
Lizzy nodded. “It does make things a bit more difficult.”
“That it does,” Anna said, smiling grimly.
A few minutes later, she knocked briefly on the door to the morning room in the back of the house, and tripped in only to stop. The gentleman sitting on a chair next to her mother’s chaise rose. Anna curtseyed.
Sebastian, Baron Rutherford, bowed. Anna fought the urge to smile. He was tall and rangy. The cut of his coat molded to his broad shoulders, and his pantaloons clung to his muscular legs. He had hair the color of a hazelnut and impossibly gray eyes. When he was angry, they shone like molten silver. Anna frequently made him angry.
She’d loved him since she was a child. If he’d asked for her hand when she’d first come out, she would have accepted him. Now, at one and twenty, she was wiser.
Sebastian— he hated his given name— spent the last few years dangling after Anna’s best friend, Phoebe, who was now marrying Lord Marcus Finley. With no more cover and his mother nagging at him to wed, he’d turned to Anna. Yet, the past two years had made it impossible for her to marry him unless he truly loved her and all she was. She wasn’t sure they even knew each other anymore.
Anna met his gaze coolly. “Lord Rutherford, pray, what brings you here?”
“Oh, Anna dear,” her mother said. “Lord Rutherford has very kindly offered to help by escorting you to Charteries for Lady Phoebe’s wedding.”
Anna raised a brow and stared at Sebastian for a moment before turning to address her mother. Lady Marsh reminded Anna of a wraith. Her mother’s dark brown hair was still unmarked by silver. She always dressed in flowing gowns and draped gauzy shawls around her shoulders, giving the impression she would blow away if one breathed hard enough. Mamma desperately wanted Anna married and could not understand how it was she’d reached the age of one and twenty still single.
As objecting to Sebastian’s escort would do her no good, Anna kept the smile on her face. “Yes, Mamma, very kind of him.” She glanced at him and thought she saw the remnants of a smug look on his face. “How do you think of these ideas?” she asked sweetly.
ellaquinnauthor
Ella Quinn ~ Author 
Excerpted from FAMILY PLOT: Another John Pickett mystery, scheduled for publication in 2014:
Some three weeks after his encounter with Lady Fieldhurst at Drury Lane Theater, John Pickett approached the magistrate’s bench in the Bow Street Public Office. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the slender wooden railing that separated the magistrate’s raised bench from those lesser mortals who came before him seeking justice or mercy, depending upon which side of the law they found themselves.
“Mr. Colquhoun, sir, if I might have a moment—” he began.
“By all means, Mr. Pickett. In fact, you’re a breath of fresh air.” The magistrate’s scowl lightened at the sight of his most junior Runner. “If anyone had told me twenty years ago that the Metropolis was home to so many pickpockets and petty thieves, I never would have believed them. Sometimes I wonder if there’s an honest man in all of London. Perhaps I should take up a lantern and go in search of one, like Diogenes.”
As Pickett’s education did not extend to classical references, the slight smile with which he greeted this sally was more out of courtesy than amusement.
“But why so solemn, Mr. Pickett? What troubles you this morning?”
“I wonder, sir, if you might speak on my behalf regarding a—” Pickett swallowed hard. “—regarding a rise in my wages.”
Mr. Colquhoun’s bushy white eyebrows rose. “I seem to recall you were rewarded quite handsomely for that Hollingshead affair. How much does it take to maintain a bachelor establishment these days?”
“There’s the rub, sir.” Having committed himself this far, Pickett threw caution to the winds. “I am contemplating matrimony.”
“Well, I’m dashed!” The magistrate heaved himself to his feet and reached across the railing to shake Pickett’s hand. “Never say that viscountess of yours has said she’ll have you! Let me be the first to congratulate you.”
Pickett saw nothing to amuse him in this attempt at hilarity. “I am preparing,” he said with great solemnity, “to make an offer of marriage to Miss Lucy Higgins of Seven Dials.”
“John!” The twinkle in Mr. Colquhoun’s blue eyes was extinguished, and when he spoke again, there was no trace of amusement in his voice. “You intend to tie yourself to a common strumpet?”
“As you are so kind as to point out, the Viscountess Fieldhurst is unlikely to so demean herself,” Pickett said stiffly.
“Yes, but you need not choose one end of the spectrum or the other. If you’ll look about you a bit, you’ll discover there is a whole range of females who fall somewhere between the extremes of an aristocratic widow and a ha’penny whore!”
Pickett, very much on his dignity, drew himself up to his full height, “I must remind you, sir, that you are speaking of the young woman I intend to marry.”
“Fine words, my lad, but the fact remains that the girl is nothing but a prostitute!”
“And what am I but a reformed pickpocket?”
“John?” There was confusion and, yes, pain in the magistrate’s voice. “After all you have accomplished here, can you truly think so little of yourself? You are one of the most promising young men it has been my pleasure to know.”
Pickett hesitated. He knew Mr. Colquhoun felt a certain sense of responsibility where he was concerned; he sometimes suspected that sense of responsibility was not unmixed with affection. But although he was aware of the debt he owed the magistrate, there were things he could not confide in him. He could not tell him, for instance, that every evening for the past three weeks had found him in the pit of Drury Lane Theater. For twenty-one nights running, Hamlet had pondered aloud whether “to be or not to be” while John Pickett gazed up at the box directly overhead for a glimpse of the widowed Lady Fieldhurst. Not once had his diligence been rewarded; however pleased her ladyship had appeared to be at the opportunity to renew his acquaintance, she had clearly forgotten the encounter. It was long past time for him to do the same.
Unfortunately, in spite of his best efforts, this appeared to be easier said than done. Suddenly weary of his self-imposed celibacy, he saw only one way out of his dilemma. He had decided long ago that he would not be one of those Runners who arrested on Sunday morning the same doxies whose favors they had purchased on Saturday night. For a principled man, there was only one outlet for those urges natural to any healthy, red-blooded Englishman: marriage. Pickett had come to the conclusion that the only way to get one female out of his heart was to tie himself irrevocably to another.
“I will do my best to justify your faith in me, sir, but where would I be had you not intervened?” Pickett asked, seeing the magistrate was awaiting an answer. “Locked up in Newgate, perhaps, or dancing from the end of a rope on Tyburn Tree.”
Mr. Colquhoun made a shooing motion with his hands, as if to wave away any suggestion of sentiment. “Nonsense! Cream will rise to the top, my boy—you can’t stop it. In any case, they stopped hanging felons at Tyburn before you were born! But ‘ ‘til death do us part’ can be a long time if you’re wed to the wrong woman. A man wants to be sure his children have his own blood running through their veins.”
“I believe Lucy will be faithful to me, once she is assured of a roof over her head and food in her belly. Perhaps all she needs is a chance. Since I can’t—that is, since it is impossible—” He broke off and swallowed hard. “I will not try to convince you that I am in love with Lucy, but I am fond of her. I believe I could find some contentment in knowing that I gave her a better life than she could provide for herself. It might not be a blissful marriage, but I think it could be a mutually satisfying one.”
The magistrate heaved a world-weary sigh and rolled his eyes heavenward. “There are times,” he said, “when I could cheerfully wring the Viscountess Fieldhurst’s neck! I’m sure your feelings do you credit, John, but by Jove, you can’t marry a female in a fit of philanthropy!”
“But sir, I—”
“You, sirrah, will hold your tongue when you approach the bench!” commanded Mr. Colquhoun at his most magisterial. He picked up a folded sheet of paper and spread it open on his desk. “I fear you will be leaving the Metropolis for a time, Mr. Pickett, so let us have no more nonsense about marriage. I have been thinking for some time now about visiting my native Scotland to harass the local trout population. You will accompany me. We will board the Royal Mail Coach at the Bull and Mouth in St. Martin’s Lane first thing tomorrow morning. The Mail departs promptly at eight. Do not disappoint me.”
Pickett heard only one part of this speech. “Fishing, sir? In October?”
“Faugh! Has city living made you soft? A fine husband you’d make some poor female, if you can’t stomach the prospect of a little cold and damp! Providentially, I have only this morning received a request to send a Runner to Ravenscroft, a village on the southwestern coast of Scotland. Missing person, presumed dead, suddenly reappeared. Family wants to know if it’s a hoax. You shall investigate while I indulge in a brief holiday. Do I make myself clear?”
Pickett sighed. “Very clear, sir. And what of my request?”
“Ah, yes. A rise in wages so that you might take a harlot to wife. As to that, Mr. Pickett, you may consider it denied.”
I love it Sheri!!
Ella, as always I love your excerpt. This is from The Elusive Wife that released today from Entangled.
Jason stormed into the library of Stafford’s townhome and
stopped, feet braced apart, his hands fisted at his sides. “Damnit,
Drake, it’s her.” He glared at his best friend.
Drake put aside his book. “Who is her?”
“Lady Olivia,” Jason growled.
“You’re not making sense. Who or what is Lady Olivia?”
Jason ran his fingers through his hair. “Follow along, man.
Elizabeth’s esteemed house guest, the lovely Lady Olivia, is none
other than Lady Jane Grant. My wife!”
Drake stared at him for a moment, his jaw slack. “Lady Jane
and Lady Olivia are one and the same?”
Jason nodded, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. Never in his
life had he been made such a fool.
Drake grinned. “Let’s see if I understand this. For weeks
you’ve been twisted in knots trying to find a mysterious woman.
You had no idea when she arrived in town, who she was staying
with, and even what she looked like. Were you to find this elusive
woman, you intended to coerce her into an annulment—not sure
you even had grounds for one—so you could pursue the lady, it
turns out, you are already married to. Does that about cover it?”
Drake threw his head back and roared with laughter.
In a flash, Jason blindly struck out, his fist landing square on
his friend’s chin. Drake and the chair tumbled backwards, feet up
in the air.
This is an excerpt from A Touch of Mercy, Book 5 in the Realm Series. In this scene, Aidan Kimbolt, Viscount Lexford, returns home after a long recovery from a brain injury, which has left him with little of his short term memory.
“TO HELL, YOU SAY!” Aidan growled. A heartbeat passed before he digested the situation to discover he was in no mood for whatever game the lady and Hill employed. “Get her out, Hill!” he snapped. “I have no need of an evening in the lady’s arms, nor do I require a mistress. What ails me cannot be cured by a thorough bedding!”
Hill judiciously closed the door before saying, “My Lord, you have misspoken.”
Aidan opened his mouth to reprimand his associate, but before he could utter a word, the woman’s open palm left its print upon his cheek. Aidan’s head snapped to the right. “You, sir, are no gentleman,” she hissed. Next, she turned her anger upon Hill. “You promised me he was a reasonable man, but I should have known better. Men who claim social positions are all full of self conceit and misplaced pride.” The woman’s gaze fell upon Aidan’s countenance, and he thought himself blessed by the passion he found there. Whoever the chit, she was magnificent. “You are of the same ilk as my brother’s associates. Riff raff, all of you.”
Aidan rubbed his cheek. “Are you hoping I will accept another brother, as well as a sister?” he said viciously. “If so, you are sadly mistaken.”
The woman blushed thoroughly, but her venom had not lessened. Her eyes darkened in annoyance. “My brother is Mr. Purefoy’s heir. He is fortunate in that regard for he must not contend with the likes of you. In such matters, you and…” She paused awkwardly, and Aidan wondered what she would have said if she had not corrected herself. “You and Francis are very much alike. You receive the best of what your positions afford. It is only we women who must bend our natures to please a man’s whims. Otherwise, we possess nothing of substance.”
Aidan watched the breadth of emotions crossing the woman’s countenance. One corner of his mouth curved upward in a half grin. “If this is your way of bending to my will,” he taunted, “I am most displeased.”
The girl snorted her disapprobation. To Hill she said, “Mr. Hill, if you would make arrangements for my passage, I shall pack my few belongings for the stage. I thank you in advance for such kindness.”
Hill’s gaze narrowed. “Perhaps, if we could sit and begin again, things will be more civil.” He gestured to the chairs before the warm fire. Catching the girl’s elbow, Hill turned her steps toward the seating. “Come, my Lord,” Hill coaxed.
Aidan shrugged his shoulders in defeat. He knew Hill would not relent until the man had had his way; therefore, Aidan chose the most comfortable of the chairs. He purposely slouched in the seat as if he possessed no cares. “Then be about it,” he said aristocratically. “Share with me the lady’s tale of woe so I may finally dispense with the road dust ruining my clothing.” He had intentionally seated himself before Hill had escorted the woman to her seat. Aidan could not say why he had taken on the mantle of a spoiled child. He supposed the problem rested in the nameless he had yet to discover at Lexington Arms.
“I possess the power to speed your task, my Lord,” the lady said with false sweetness. An enticing pulse leapt to life at the base of her neck, indicating she was well aware of the tension between them. “Permit me the use of your small carriage to see me to London, and you shall never hear from me again.”
Aidan said bitterly, “And why should I suffer the inconvenience of losing my small coach for a week when I might place you on the public coach for the flip of a coin?”
Hill interrupted their ‘discussion.’ “My Lord, you are better than this quibbling. I have never known you to be irrational. Please listen to my explanation.”
Aidan knew Hill was correct, but it felt good to vent his anger. He was known among his associates as the affable one, but Aidan wished to shed that label. He wished to lose the image of a man who always accepted second best. Grudgingly, he attempted nonchalance. “Have your say, Lucifer.” He would find time to apologize to Hill when they were alone. His man would not place him in a poor light. “Be quick about it,” Aidan added to permit the girl to know his continued irritation.
Hill sat between them. The man took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I must direct your memory to the time before you traveled to Chesterfield Manor. Do you recall any of the goings on before you called upon Baron Ashton’s household?”
Aidan resisted the urge to squirm. Of course, he recalled bits and pieces of the puzzle known as his life, but he was uncertain to what Mr. Hill referred. “I suspect you must be more specific,” he said defiantly.
Hill nodded his understanding. “Before you had decided to court Miss Aldridge, you received a letter informing you of Miss Purefoy’s existence. You confided in me and asked that I escort the girl to Lexington Arms.”
Aidan scowled. Something in Hill’s tale went against logic, but he could not pinpoint what expressly spoke of untruth. “Is the letter still available?” he asked distractedly.
The corners of Hill’s lips turned upward, and again Aidan wondered about the man’s honesty. “Not of which I am aware,” Lucifer said evenly. “Before I could act upon your mission, Lachlan Charters changed everything. I accompanied Viscount Worthing to Scotland to seek your attacker. During your recovery, I remained with Lord Worthing at Linton Park. It was only with word of your likely return to Cheshire that I recalled Miss Purefoy’s fate. I immediately sent word to Staffordshire.”
“And Staffordshire is your home, Miss Purefoy?” he asked suspiciously.
The girl shot a quick glance at Hill. Aidan grimaced inwardly. Was he somehow missing an important fact? Of course, he was missing a hundred or more important facts, but a false one from his past would be a different matter. “My brother’s estate is on the border with Derbyshire.”
“I am familiar with the area. May I ask which village?”
“Near Leek,” Hill answered for the girl, but the man’s response had come a bit too quickly.
The lines on Aidan’s forehead deepened. There was something odd about this conversation, but before he could define the weaknesses in Hill’s story, Aidan made the mistake of looking upon the girl’s perfect countenance. Her hair caught the light of the fire, and he could see the flame of life in each silken strand. He wondered what it would be to release the pins, which held her locks tightly in place, and permit them to run through his fingers. To place a row of kisses along the column of her neck.
“I arrived in the nick of time,” Lucifer was saying.
Aidan pulled his gaze from Miss Purefoy’s pouty mouth. “How so?” he said inattentively.
“Miss Purefoy’s mother had passed, and Francis Purefoy’s was not of the persuasion to recognize an allegiance to his stepmother’s issue. Mr. Purefoy drove his sister from her home.”
Aidan’s eyebrow rose in disbelief. “Destitute, heh?”
Lucifer sat straighter. “I would not say ‘destitute,’ my Lord, but Miss Purefoy’s future lies in your hands.”
“Such a tenuous position,” Aidan said sarcastically. The girl rolled her eyes, and even Aidan found his attitude amusingly pathetic.
Hill continued his tale. “Miss Purefoy had set out on a solitary journey. Unfortunately, an innocent is fair game to those of unscrupulous purposes. A couple posing as benefactors robbed Miss Purefoy of her few valuables.”
Aidan set forward, his former disdain forgotten. “Would you recognize the perpetrators?” he said with concern. “Were you injured in any manner?” He struggled through his unwillingness to accept his overpowering need to determine exactly what had occurred.
The girl said softly, “Only my pride. My mother’s locket…” She reached for where the chain should rest about her neck, and Aidan suspected it the first truthful moment he had experienced since entering his study. “The couple claimed their names were Foyle. Mr. and Mrs. Foyle.”
“If you will relate what you recall of the pair to Mr. Hill, he will convey the description to the authorities in the area. I am not without influence.” Aidan did not like to think of any woman alone on the road, and especially a woman who held the face of a fairy princess. If evil had befallen her, Aidan would not have had the pleasure of staring into the woman’s countenance.
Her eyes closed as if recalling the fears she must have encountered. “Mr. Hill has been more than kind,” she said with admiration.
Aidan’s jaw clenched. He did not particularly like the idea of Lucifer being the girl’s hero, especially when Aidan had chosen to play the role of villain. “Perhaps we should call a truce, Miss Purefoy.” Her eyes rose to meet his, and Aidan saw a flicker of hope. “Please explain Mr. Hill’s claim of our familial relationship.”
Again, the girl looked to Hill for support, and Aidan considered the possibility his man of all means had made a conquest. “Before her death, my mother reportedly announced the truth of my parentage.”
“And you believe my father is the missing parent?” He briefly considered the girl’s explanation, and Aidan felt the suspicions return. His father was far from angelic. After all, the late viscount had lost his wife some sixteen years prior to his own passing; but Aidan had thought himself aware of the women with whom the late viscount associated. He held no knowledge of a genteel woman in Staffordshire. And what made the tale harder for him to swallow was if the girl spoke the truth, Arlen Kimbolt had sired Miss Purefoy while Aidan’s own mother was still living. He was not naïve enough to know such matters did not occur on a regular basis among men of his social standing, but it hurt him to consider the fact while Cassandra Kimbolt still lived, his father had betrayed his mother.
“I know only what I have shared,” she confessed. “Have you no memory of my mother’s letter, my Lord?”
He wished he could define what part of her story bothered him the most. Unfortunately, as a gentleman, Aidan could not turn her out, especially if the lady possessed no other home. He stood slowly. “We will act upon discovering the truth of this matter. Until that time, you will remain our guest, Miss Purefoy. I assume Mr. Hill has seen to your quarters.”
Lucifer said evenly, “Mrs. Babcock thought the west wing was best.”
Aidan shot a sharp glare at the man. “And you accepted this slight?”
The lady intervened. “It is of no significance, Lord Lexford. I found nothing wanting in my quarters.”
He did not approve. Even if the woman’s tale proved untrue, Aidan would never have considered the west wing as appropriate housing. Obviously, Mrs. Babcock’s manipulative ways continued. He wondered what the girl had done to engender the woman’s disapprobation. Likely, the woman thought herself protecting the Kimbolt name. The housekeeper’s disdain permeated the manor, and he was of a mind finally to pension the woman off. It would be something of which he would discuss with his man of business. He said, “It was my intention upon this return to Lexington Arms to speak to Mr. Hill regarding the necessary repairs for that portion of the house. Hopefully, men can be secured for the work immediately. You may discover your quarters less than desirable under those circumstances.”
“If so, I shall report my discomfort.” She curtsied. “If there are no other concerns at this time, I shall leave you to discuss estate business with Mr. Hill. Thank you for your kindness, my Lord.”
Aidan watched her go. He found he enjoyed the gentle sway of the lady’s hips. “Do you speak the truth of the lady’s plight?” he asked the one man he had repeatedly trusted with his most innermost thoughts.
Lucifer remained behind him. “If you ask if Miss Purefoy is in need of protection, I hold no doubt of the lady’s distress. I discovered her perched upon a stile during a downpour. After losing her money to the Foyles, she sought shelter on the road in barns and stables. It was only by Fate’s good hands I came upon her by accident.”
“The condition of the woman’s gown fully announces her financial straits, and her speech says she has been reared as a lady; but I wish to know whether her claim of blood relation has merit.” Aidan remained where he stood; he had not removed his eyes from the closed door. It was as if he expected the girl’s return.
Hill cleared his throat. “I hold not knowledge of Mrs. Purefoy’s purpose in writing to you of her daughter. You had said at the time that you wondered whether Mrs. Purefoy had been aware of your father’s passing. If the woman held ulterior motives in writing to you when no proof could be found.”
Aidan turned to his friend. “Quite remarkable,” he said with a scowl. He hesitated before suggesting, “Needless to say, I must send someone to investigate the lady’s story.”
“You do not wish me to do so, my Lord?” Hill said with a bit of surprise in his tone.
Aidan shook his head in the negative. “I will require your assistance in negotiating my return to the viscountcy. I will write to Pennington and ask him to set someone to the task.”
A Touch of Mercy is currently available from White Soup Press and Amazon.
http://www.amazon.com/Touch-Mercy-Book-Realm/dp/0615813828/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369061011&sr=1-1&keywords=a+touch+of+mercy
Fantastic excerpt, Ella. Pg rated – hmmm – can I find one.
From Capri’s Fate – she is suspected of corporate espionage
Agent Pusey slammed his hand on the table. His eyes grew dark with anger as he glared at Capri. “This isn’t over, Miss Gray.”
“Ms. Gray.” Her voice was a deep growl.
“We’ll find that flash drive.” He and Agent Hedgecock stood and stormed out of the room. The door vibrated with the force of its closing.
A tense silence interrupted by embarrassed coughs filled the room.
“Well. I…uh…” Felkins Junior rubbed the end of his nose
“What? That’s it?” Anger burned in Capri’s stomach. “No apology? No, oh gee sorry we mistrusted you, Ms. Gray.”
Noreen Wongus examined her ring. Felkins III turned red and looked like he was having a small heart attack. Felkins Senior pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and blew his nose.
Capri pushed back her chair, stood and rested her hands on the table. “Let me explain how the next part goes. You are going to double my severance package and all the paperwork will be completed in two days or the lawyer I hire will eat your lawyer for lunch. And you, Mr. Felkins.”
Felkins Junior lifted his head.
Capri snorted. “Not you, you wishwashy puppet. You!” She pointed at the senior Felkins.
“I thought you were the intelligence behind this company. You know I had nothing to do with this, yet you sat there and doodled while they tried to crucify me.”
He blinked.
Capri opened her mouth. Words of criticism and scorn danced on her tongue. Snapping her lips closed, she snatched her purse and strutted out of the office.
Buy Links – https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/309990
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-capri039sfate-1172391-140.html
http://www.amazon.com/Capris-Fate-ebook/dp/B00CJ1I6Y0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1366992997&sr=1-1&keywords=new+dawning+bookfair
http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Capris-Fate/book-7uOs7lH6QU66B8y_ji9JWw/page1.html
https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-capri039sfate-1172391-140.html
Sorry the cover popped up – guess it’s because I put in a buy link and it went to Amazon.
Thanks for this opportunity Ella.
This excerpt is from Lost Honor out now in e-book and paperback.
Shoved by powerful hands, she fell to her knees before booted feet. “Found her in the hold, Cap’n. Thought she was a boy at first, her wearin’ pants and a cap, but she has tits.”
“I can see that, Jurgens.”
Arianna followed the shiny boots up to tight-fitting, brown breeches hugging muscular thighs, and slim hips. A loose, white shirt covering broad shoulders next met her gaze, then a corded neck, square jaw, stern lips, crooked nose, and cold, dark eyes that stared down at her. “Where’s my brother? Who are you?”
“I will be asking the questions. Who are you, and why are you on my ship?” The deep voice thundered through the cabin.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Dizziness swamped her. Swallowing convulsively, she battled to contain the contents of her queasy stomach. Hiding in that empty molasses barrel hadn’t been the brightest idea of her twenty-one years. “I’m not talking to anyone but my brother.”
Jurgens’s forceful hands yanked her to a standing position. “You answer the cap’n.”
The abrupt movement snapped the fragile control she clung to. Spasms seized her throat. Arianna struggled to turn away, but the fingers digging into her arms held her in place. The contents of her stomach erupted.
All over Captain Danvers’s boots.
Her captor released her and jumped back in horror.
Amazon e-book
http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Honor-ebook/dp/B00AD99TSM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1362433938&sr=1-1&keywords=lost+honor
Amazon paperback
http://www.amazon.com/Lost-Honor-Loreen-Augeri/dp/1612177298/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1362434027&sr=1-1&keywords=lost+honor
The Wild Rose Press e-book
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=195&products_id=5133
The Wild Rose Press paperback
http://www.thewildrosepress.com/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=191&products_id=5144
Barnes and Noble e-book
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/lost-honor-loreen-augeri/1114793304?ean=2940016266534
Buy links can also be found on my website http://www.loreenaugeri.com
What a wonderful excerpt.
This is from the 3rd book in my Trilogy – Circles Interlocked. Julie is about to read a letter Robert sent her – in case things went bad for him.
Julie’s fingers trembled as she opened the envelope.
Hi,
If you’re reading this then something went wrong and I guess I’m dead. Sorry. But that’s only one more screw up to add to my list. I’ve messed things up a lot in this relationship. Why do people who should never be together fall in love?
I should’ve never met you and I certainly shouldn’t have fallen in love with you, but I did. I never stopped loving you once in the years we were apart. Telling you this now seems a little stupid, I guess I should’ve done it before I let you go back to Langston.
A long time ago – in high school – we had to write an assignment for our last English essay. You and I had broken up and everyone was mad at me for being such a bastard. For my essay, I handed in a poem. Yea me, I wrote a poem. Mrs. Wolmsely liked it – hell, she gave me an “A”.
She wanted to read it in class. She was hoping you’d forgive me. Which is exactly what I didn’t want. I wanted you to go dance. I wanted you to live out your dream. I’m sorry I screwed up on that. Anyway, this is my poem. I’ve revised it a bit. It was only two verses long then. I wanted to call it LOVE SUCKS, but I didn’t think Mrs. Wolmsely would like that.
She possessed my being –
Gave me a future –
A life.
Our souls intertwined –
Fantasies fulfilled
But
Reality intruded.
One’s dream realized
One’s destroyed.
A heart broken
The pain –
Where a heart should be
A void existed.
The expanse of days
Became years.
A dream withered.
By chance –
Two faces meet
And smile
Lips touch
Love strikes once more.
My being possessed –
Desires fulfilled –
A dream revived.
A future
With Love!
I don’t know why I told you all this. All I wanted to do is tell you I love you, but it seemed cold and impersonal on paper. Please don’t grieve for me. Remember our good times together. Forget the bad stuff. Have a happy life, full of love and joy.
With Love,
R
This is an excerpt from my upcoming release: Worst Week Ever, a humorous, New Adult Contemporary.
In this scene Carrie’s billionaire boss, Trent Lancaster, has taken her out for a fabulous Broadway show and dinner. He’s been so charming, that God help her, she’s falling in love with him.
However Trent’s friend Gary, stops by during their dessert at the high priced restaurant. and gives her a wake up call:
Gary’s focus turned to Carrie and she felt like a bug under a judgmental microscope. “I don’t believe we’ve met before.”
“Carrie Hanson.”
His head tilted as if perplexed. “Of the Boston Hansons?”
“Of the New Jersey Hansons.”
Two furrowed lines etched across his forehead. “I’m not aware of that family.”
“That’s because it’s just me.”
He stared at Trent to make sense of the matter. “Carrie’s my EA. She just came back from improving my Taiwan facility, so I treated her to a welcome home, work’s-been-hell-without-you evening.”
The relief in Gary’s face almost equaled her embarrassment as she realized he’d feared his friend had fallen for New Jersey trash. Until this moment, it had never occurred to her that Trent’s friends would see a relationship between them as the equivalent of Trent getting the Ebola virus.
Despite all Trent’s imperfections, in Gary’s eyes, she equated to unwanted crap on Trent’s shoe. Pain etched its way up her chest as tears pressed to escape. She stood, and all four men popped up as well. Trent seemed baffled by her sudden move, Gary radiated contempt, Tall gave her pity, and Tiny looked ready to fight.
“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to the lady’s room.”
She sensed Tiny following her, but didn’t dare stop. Tears would overcome her soon.
The bathroom had a lounge with a makeup table, a chair, and two velvet-cushioned benches. Since no one else occupied the room, she lay down and closed her eyes, still fighting her desire to cry.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked herself. “So his friend thinks you’re white trash. Who cares? Gary’s just a stupid jerk. Besides, nothing’s going on between Trent and me. Since when can’t an employee have dinner with her boss? No reason to make me feel like I’m not good enough to wipe his boots. It’s not like I’m hoping to be his girlfriend. I just want a decent boss.” She sniffed and added, “I only want to help him turn his business around.”
Her protest lost its steam due to a lack of sincerity. Somewhere between the ride through a third world country and the arrival of Gary, she’d trampled the line between business and personal. She’d discovered, away from all the aggravations of work, Trent exuded charm and wit. Within his thorny exterior resided a great deal of tolerance and kindness. Damn it! Why did he have to make her like him? Why hadn’t he let her know that to his people, she’d always be inferior? His friend didn’t waste any time sharing his contempt.
Damn it! She’d never felt so comfortable and right with anyone before. She liked him and he liked her.
“As an employee! He likes you as an employee. That’s all, idiot!”
Hope you enjoyed it. Worst Week Ever is coming out July 15th
Hey Ella!
Enjoy your day 🙂
As you know, I’m not an author, but I just got done reading this book UNTAMED by Anna Cowen and want to shout from the rooftops how much I liked it. I hope you’ll let me share an excerpt with all your followers 🙂
EXCERPT:
“The Duke of Darlington was sitting in the bow window at Whites, when the Earl of BenRuin entered. The man was huge – almost ugly with it.
‘We’ll need another pot of coffee, after last night,’ Darlington said to Jewellyn, who sat beside him comparing three silk handkerchiefs.
‘Mother says the daffodil yellow makes me look consumptive, but the pale is just so joyless.’
‘Your mother knows best, darling.’ He took another sip of coffee, and didn’t look around. But he felt BenRuin’s eyes on him. He heard a hush follow the Earl through the room as he made his way over.
‘Darlington.’ BenRuin spat his name with a thick Scottish R.
He looked up and smiled sunnily. ‘What ho, old boy!’
BenRuin looked as though he wanted to crush Darlington’s throat and stop him from ever speaking again. Something woke, and shivered through Darlington, and he despaired because it was not fear.
He brushed a speck of lint from his cuff. ‘Coffee?’
BenRuin stared at him. ‘I am going to kill you,’ he said slowly, every word clear. Men looked up from their papers, frowning. BenRuin gripped the back of an empty chair, his hand a powerful, blunt instrument.
Darlington lowered his cup and wondered that his hands didn’t shake at all. He had been waiting so long for this. A month ago he had been given an old iron key that unlocked his father’s private papers with his father’s things. The key might as well have unlocked this sick, loose delight in him. It had brought him to this moment.
He screwed up his brow, and turned to Crispin, who sat at his feet on an ottoman. ‘Was I supposed to meet this man in a duel today?’
The boy looked back at Darlington with perfect trust, undiminished by the slight confusion on his face.
‘I don’t think so. No one’s come to see me about being your second. Unless—’ Crispin flushed and turned to Hopwell, across the table. ‘Hopwell, you rotter, you’ve not been approached, have you?’
Hopwell drew himself up. ‘And if I had? Are you the only one who could possibly represent him?’
‘But you know that I—’
BenRuin’s face clearly spoke his frustration – his disbelief that these boys, these butterflies would ignore him. His huge frame bunched and he threw the chair at the wall so hard it broke. Muted conversations broke off, and a footman’s half-sobbed apologies limped alone into the silence. Men rose from their seats, but left a wary space around BenRuin. Darlington couldn’t look away from BenRuin’s pale eyes.
He smiled as if his patience was wearing out. ‘Why do you suppose you want to kill me, old boy?’
‘You.’ BenRuin forced a couple of heavy breaths through his nose, like speaking the words was a feat of strength. ‘And my wife.’
‘Ah.’ Darlington let understanding dawn in his voice and spread his manicured hands out before him. At last. At last they had come to it. All this violence was his for the taking. ‘Look, she told me it was one of those marriages, you know. That you both found pleasure where you could.’
For a moment BenRuin couldn’t speak, like Darlington had cut his tongue out of his mouth. Then, ‘Stop talking,’ he said.
‘But I’m sure she…wait, so you’re back from your trip to South America, then? Did you collect any interesting new specimens?’
‘Stop talking,’ BenRuin said. ‘Stop.’
Crispin leapt up, relief clear in his smile, his voice. ‘You’re thinking of Lady Drysdale, Your Grace!’
‘Of course!’ The Duke placed slim fingers against his brow and made an apologetic face at BenRuin. At last. ‘All a misunderstanding, old boy!’
‘Call me old boy one more time,’ BenRuin said, his brogue making him almost unintelligible, ‘and I won’t wait to hear your explanation.’
‘Explanation?’ He had begun to shake with a kind of excitement. ‘Lady Drysdale and I had an understanding, and I don’t see that it’s any of your concern!’
‘And your carriage – in my driveway?’
He had forced a proud man to say this in front of other men. It was despicable. He would do it again in a heartbeat for what he wanted – needed.
‘Which driveway would that be, old – er.’ Darlington leaned down to Crispin and said, ‘Do you know who he is? I’m not sure what name to address him by.’
And then it came. So fast that for a moment his whole body felt the shock of not being ready. Of needing a moment to think.
BenRuin came at him, all muscle and murderous intent, his eyes fixed on Darlington’s face.
And Darlington was greedy, his whole being a gruesome invitation. Everything he normally hid flared to life within him.
BenRuin saw it. He faltered.
The men who had leapt into action had their arms about BenRuin, their hands gripping him wherever they found purchase. BenRuin’s knife never reached Darlington’s throat.
Darlington felt so bereft that for a moment he couldn’t breathe.
A man was hurrying through the room. Perhaps someone had sent a boy to find him, because he spoke in BenRuin’s ear and BenRuin listened. Tension leeched out of BenRuin’s huge body, and he began to shake, like a horse after a hard race.
He pointed a finger at Darlington. ‘I’ll not hang for the sake of seeing your pretty blood,’ he ground out. ‘This time. But the next time you trespass against me, you will know what I mean to do.’
BenRuin left, and Darlington fluttered his hands about his throat, and went into mild hysterics and allowed Crispin to fuss over him.”
If you liked the excerpt, this book is available now on: Amazon | Kobo | iTunes | Google | txtr | JB HiFi | Sainsbury’s | Destiny Romance
Thanks for letting me share!
Mel
http://www.bookworm2bookworm.wordpress.com
Here’s a little excerpt from my debut novel A FAMILY AFFAIR.
***
Of course they waited for her.
Fanny had stayed in her room until she almost missed breakfast, silently wishing for her family to be long gone before she went down to the family breakfast room.
But no.
As if they knew her scheme, they were all there, eating and chatting about nothing and everything. She gave a resigned sigh and sat down in the empty chair between Uncle Harry and her cousin Drake.
A footman brought her a large cup of tea, and she put her hands around the hot cup, enjoying the warmth that spread from her hands to the rest of her body.
Her parents sat side by side at one end of the table, reading together in the social section of the day’s newspaper. Her Aunt Diana sat beside them, arguing with her eldest son, Lee, while her husband read the political part of the newspaper and now and then read
something aloud to anyone who happened to listen.
Drake was dressed in apple-green clothing—the essence of fashion, as he was telling Uncle Ward on the other side of the table, completely ignoring his unwilling listener’s disinterest in the subject. Uncle Liam was in a heated discussion with his brothers Rake and Jamie over how one got rid of leeches, much to Fanny’s chagrin.
Her brothers were still arguing over the best way to stack chairs, which didn’t surprise her in the least, knowing how stubborn they both were. She made a little wager with herself that they would continue at least until next Saturday, seven days away, before they found something else to dissect.
She loved all twelve of these people so much, even her petty-minded Aunt Diana, and she knew they all adored her right back. She was surrounded with love, and yet somehow she suddenly felt as if there was a small piece missing. Like there was one more chair needing to be occupied for her to be complete.
The thought disturbed her a little, because she could easily guess from whence it originated.
It amazed her how important Devlin had become to her in the last two days. Now all she wanted was to get to know him, the real him. What were his dreams, his plans for life? Where had he been, and how had it made him into the unbelievably charismatic person he was
today? And, more importantly, what were his thoughts about stacking chairs…
“Fanny dear, did you see all the beautiful flowers that were delivered to you?” Aunt Diana asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“N-no,” she stuttered. She had been daydreaming about Devlin as she passed the foyer and hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“How could you miss them? They were all over the hallway—I hardly found my way here!”
“Oh, come on, Sebastian, they were not everywhere,” Sin mocked, and gave Fanny a what-an-ass look, which only garnered him a bread roll in the head, thrown by his devoted brother.
“They were too,” Sebastian growled, while his brother rubbed the side of his head. “I felt like an adventurer exploring an unknown jungle when I came down for breakfast. You, sister dear, must have crushed a lot of hearts yesterday when you kept ignoring all your beaus for your one and only.”
“I did not,” Fanny gasped.
“Did too.”
“Did not!”
“Children, children,” Caroline called out with despair. “Please behave. We are trying to enjoy our breakfast.”
Sebastian gave Fanny a superior grin, and she almost growled at him for being such a tease. This was the bad side of having siblings who were close to you: they knew exactly what buttons to push.
Caroline seemed to feel she had to excuse her youngest son, and she turned to her daughter with a shining smile. “There isn’t a jungle, Fanny, but it’s quite a lot of flowers. There were also a stack of calling cards left for us, including some invitations to some especially pleasant assemblies, suitable for a young lady. Tonight we are going to dine with my parents, as you well know, but tomorrow we are invited to a small party where there will be mostly other debutantes and their families, which is an agreeable way to meet new friends.”
“Or a subtle way to be able to view your competition,” Sebastian inserted, bringing him a harsh glare from his loving mother.
“Oh, come on, Mother,” he admonished with a laugh. “You should be the first to admit how the social season is nothing more than a matrimonial market.”
“I do not admit to such a thing.” Caroline sniffed. “And you shouldn’t be so rude. There is more to the Season than matrimony.”
“There is?” Sebastian said, with his green eyes wide.
His mother, not so loving this time, mimicked his earlier move and threw a bread roll at him.
And of course I forgot the link – here you can find A FAMILY AFFAIR http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00C1KX6JE
Hi Ella,
This is the prologue of my twenty second book, the second contemporary sea story based on my forty years at sea as a marine engineer. It is set on the offshore supply boats and the oil fields in the Timor Sea to the north-west of Australia and will be released by Eternal Press in August.
Prologue
The flames died as the Sapphire Sea slid sternwards beneath the surface and the darkness became thick and velvet. The water felt colder now and he could feel it leaching the heat from his body. Probably the effect of shock, he thought. A cluster of yellow water-activated life jacket lights sprang into being fifty metres away and he swam towards them. Perhaps others had survived the explosion…shielded like him from the direct effect of the blast.
They were all empty, the contents of the ready use locker on the bridge wing. The wooden lid had floated off and released them as the Sapphire Sea sank. He tied them together and started towing them away from the oil he could smell breaking the surface, using the stars to swim northward across the tidal flow. He was at home in the water but they might come in useful later and their lights would guide any other survivors towards him. When he judged himself clear of the leaking oil, he found one of the whistles attached to the life jackets and blew several piercing blasts. There was no response.
He was alone.
The sea was calm, but the underlying swell of a distant storm lifted him regularly so he could scan the area for the flashing light of the EPIRB. It should have floated clear like the life jackets. Retrieving it would increase his chances of being found.
A small spark of light appeared intermittently to the south. It could be another life jacket released by the sinking and he hesitated to swim back into the oil slick, especially as repeated blasts of the whistle drew no response.
He looked up at the stars, identifying “The Pointers”, Beta and Alpha Centauri, and used them to find the Southern Cross. It had just turned from its left side, making it just after midnight. Another six hours until daylight. It would be better then.
The first thin sound of the whistle caught him by surprise and he wasn’t sure that he’d really heard it, but it was repeated a few moments later from the south and he fumbled for the whistle to respond with three short deliberate blasts. The answer came back weakly and he started swimming towards the light, still towing his improvised raft of life jackets.
The exertion warmed him and the sea no longer seemed as cold, but he knew this was an illusion. When daylight came there might be the chance of retrieving the RFD life raft. It should have floated clear too and the stabilising bags beneath should have slowed its drift. Its emergency rations could be vital if the EPIRB hadn’t operated.
He reached the light and swore when its feeble illumination revealed the horrendous burns disfiguring the face of his fellow survivor beyond recognition. There was no response to his arrival so he felt for a pulse in the neck and found a faint throb. He could only hope the merciful unconsciousness persisted until they were rescued, for the pain of those burns must be intense.
The smell of oil was stronger here, so he added the occupied lifejacket to the others and started swimming away from it, his progress slowed by the additional drag.
A sharp swirl in the water nearby startled him, sending a chill wave of fear down his body and into his legs. He scissored them frantically, propelling himself and his burden onwards for a dozen metres before realizing that it was a futile gesture. If it was a shark, or a school of barracuda, the threshing would only attract them and he had no chance of swimming away from them. He floated quietly in the water, his eyes swivelling across the visible surface. Waiting for the next swirl that would signal the approach of some sub-surface predator—the chill of the water forgotten in the greater coldness of his fear.
He’d not thought about sharks till that swirl in the water. Too much had happened too quickly and his mind hadn’t caught up yet.
More great excerpts, ladies !! Here is another from The Price of a Gentleman.
Sarafina wanted to look away, to see the rest of the dancers. She had no power to do so. The moment she looked into his eyes only the two of them whirled and floated on a stream of music and candlelight. This might very well be the only chance she had to dance with Cain. She didn’t want to miss a moment of it.
“Breathe, love,” he whispered in her ear. “Just breathe and hold on tight.”
“You’re a very good dancer.” She cringed. What a stupid thing to say.
“I’ve never danced with anyone as beautiful as you. Makes me very light of foot.”
“I’m not beautiful.”
He scowled; his eyes hard and topaz dark. “You’re beautiful and graceful and at this moment every man in the room wishes he were me. Don’t look.”
His warning came too late. The other dancers had not left the floor, but they had drawn far enough away to give her and Cain a wide berth at the center of the room. She looked up at him and smiled.
“It’s a wonder they haven’t stopped dancing, fled the room and taken the orchestra with them.”
“They’d never do that, Sally-girl. They might miss the two of us doing something scandalous.”
“I thought we were.”
His lips tilted ever so slightly in the wicked smiled that never failed to weaken her knees. He tightened his arms around her and bent to touch his lips to her ear. “Let’s be more than scandalous, shall we?”
Her feet nearly left the floor as he spun them in ever-widening circles, faster and faster in double time with the music. He fixed her with a gaze of such open desire. Certainly one or more of the other ladies might swoon in their partner’s arms if they saw it. They had to see it. She and Cain created a spectacle, she in Millicent’s daring black mourning gown and he in his perfectly tailored evening clothes. How unbelievably wondrous and alive this moment. How fleeting.
His hand flexed along her back, a slow sweet caress. He squeezed her fingers just enough to calm her fears and set her free. Her breasts ached and swelled against the tight confines of her scooped neckline. Her blood turned to lava and poured down her body to settle between her thighs, damp and hot. Cain was making love to her in the middle of the Whittingdon’s ballroom and the joy of it tasted headier and more sweet than the finest champagne.
“A penny for them,” he murmured, touching his lips to her ear once more. A sensuous shiver scampered across her bare shoulders.
She smiled and tried to ignore the other bodies spinning to the waltz tune – close enough for her to notice and for them to look their fill, but far enough away to express their disdain of the “Murdering Marquis” and his doxie. “I just wondered, that is, why did you ask me to dance when you had no desire for me to dance at all?”
“I don’t remember asking,” came the completely unrepentant reply.
“So you didn’t. How good of you to remember.”
The music swelled and quickened. She sensed the allure of it in her bones. The allure of the Marquis of Ashworth settled in quite a different part of her anatomy. Rather than ask again she allowed the question to hang between them, poised but unspoken on her lips.
They danced. She’d spent years in the shadows and alcoves of ballrooms all over London, invisible and alone. Debutantes passed by and giggled at her hopeless wallflower state. Sarafina glided across the polished parquet floor in the arms of the most handsome man in the room. Oh, to see their pinched, porcelain faces now.
“It wasn’t you I wished to keep from dancing.”
“What?” She missed a step. Cain pulled her close again to steady her. His sudden reply to a question she’d assumed he wouldn’t answer startled her.
“Those men have no right to dance with you. They can’t be trusted and I won’t allow it.”
“You won’t allow it? And what of your cousin? Your remarks to him were unconscionable and cruel.”
“Had Cavendish danced with you; I might have been killed in the stampede of the gossips running to tell his wife.” He grinned and spun them into a dizzying spin. “You can only be scandalous with me.”
“You hurt him deeply.”
“I know.”
“He wants people to believe he’s frivolous and unconcerned, but he feels very deeply. He loves you.”
Cain snorted and rolled his eyes. She wasn’t fooled. He knew.
“And he loves his wife.”
This time he laughed. The other dancers stumbled in an effort to move closer to the waltzing scandal in their midst.
“Cavendish would never be so inappropriate as to be in love with his own wife, Sally-girl.”
“Heaven forbid one of you be inappropriate, especially in love.” Hard work to insure a smile doesn’t waver when all it wants to do is wobble.
The truth of her words turned on her. It hurt more than she ever imagined. She let the music fill her. He held her so close the aromas of candle wax and feminine perfumes mixed in too much heat faded. She smelled only the completely masculine scent of his skin and the slightest hint of his dark sandalwood cologne. His eyes, heavy-lidded and touched with gold, never left her face. His gaze touched her. Everywhere. His thighs brushed against her skirts. Sparks of fire coursed through her veins.
He leaned in and whispered in her ear once more. “I’ll apologize to Cavendish if you’ll attempt to enjoy this once more.”
“This?”
“Our first waltz.”
“I am enjoying it,” she assured him. “Although I’m not entirely sure we’re doing it correctly.”
“Why is that?”
“None of the other gentlemen are holding their partners quite so closely, my lord.”
“None of those other gentlemen have the good fortune to be holding you, Miss Warren.”
Another excerpt from my Colonial murder mystery. Young Constables Rooney and Levy are interviewing people who live near where a body was found. Rooney is a recent Irish immigrant and I’ve been working on his accent. This segment is part of a larger chapter about various interviews. They are about to talk to an old blind neighbor who people believe to be a little crazy. Most of the scenes with Constable Rooney are to provide some comic relief.
Ephriam knocked four times using the heavy dolphin-shaped knocker. He waited a full minute and was about to do it again when he heard four loud knocks on the inside of the door. He gave Gideon a puzzled look and waited a moment or two, then he saw the door open a crack and a clay pipe bowl poked out and he heard, “your turn!”
“Me turn?”
“Yer turn ta knock!”
“But….” She slammed the door. He looked at Gideon who raised his eyebrows in an ‘I told you so’ gesture. Ephriam knocked again.
She knocked back and he heard a “hee hee!” through the door. He waited.
Again the door opened a crack and again the pipe bowl poked out, this time through a cloud of smoke and he heard and exasperated, “well? G’wan, knock!”
“Granny Snodgrass, I…”
“Aw, never mind,” she interrupted him “You ain’t no fun! Who is it there what ain’t no fun?”
“Constable Rooney, Missus Snodgrass.”
“Ephriam? I know all about you. Izzat really you? It’s about time ya come a’ courtin’ then!
He laughed.
Gideon smiled, touched his temple again and whispered, “I tol’ ye!”
“I have Constable Levy with me. I want to ask ya a few questions.”
The door opened wide. “Come in, come in.” They stepped inside and saw they were in a hallway with a formal dining room on one side and a living room on the other. The house had been quite luxurious in its day. To the back Ephriam could see a kitchen with a well-built woman at a table chopping something with a cleaver. Halfway along the hall there were stairs that led upward. “Here, hold my pipe will ya?” He took it and she reached up and ran her hand over his face. The fingers were yellow and smelled of tobacco. “Oh, yer such a handsome boy,” she said. “Why ain’t you married?”
Ephriam laughed..”Ain’t got time, Missus Snodgrass.”
“Oh, hogwash! O’course ya do. But never mind that. What kinda questions? And hurry up, it’s time for my nap! Come inta the sittin’ room.” She took his arm. “My, you’re the strong one, ain’t ya?” she said admiringly, then yelled, “Sophie, three cups o’ tea, if ya please!”
She was smiling and despite her brusque replies, she appeared in a good humor and was obviously glad to have visitors.
“Levy. You a Jew, boy?” She looked to where she thought Gideon was standing.
“Yes, m’am,” he answered.
She turned toward his voice. “Well, I ain’t thought much good about yer people since ya killed our Jesus.”
“Was ya there, ma’m?” Gideon winked at Ephriam who covered a laugh with a cough.
“Now don’t be cheeky, ya damned rascal! I ain’t quite that old!” She cackled, obviously taking no offense.
“Well, it waddn me what done it, ma’m.”
“Awww, I know, boy! I don’t hold it agin ya personal.” She puffed vigorously on her pipe, but it was out. She mumbled, “damn thing, anyway,” then stuffed the pipe in the pocket of her apron and from the other pocket, extracted a small snuff box. “Rabbi Gershon useta live next door. Hold this, boy.” She handed her cane toward Gideon’s voice. He took it and they watched her open the box and pinch some tobacco on her wrist while talking… “Nice man. Nice family. Kids real polite. Th’ missus useta bring me rugalach and things. Too bad he was a damned Tory!”
“Yes, m’am.”
She inhaled the snuff, sneezed loudly, and wiped her nose with the hem of her apron. Replacing the snuff box in her pocket she silently reached for her cane.
The old woman felt for a straight-backed chair just inside the room and sat. “Sit, boys. Tea will be here directly, as soon as that lazy woman gets her large arse moving!”
Ephriam laughed.
“Would ya rather some good rum?”
Ephriam lifted his eyes skyward. “Would I!” he thought, but declined. “Don’t go ta no trouble, we…”
“Just as well. She won’t let me, noway.” The old woman tossed her head towards the kitchen. “I’ve a good mind to send her packin, the damned fussock’. I get plaguey little to drink these days, ga’dammit! I ain’t had a glass o’ rum in a se’nnight. That ain’t right, I tell ya!”
Both men chuckled.
“You’ll just have to forgive my language, young Ephriam. I learned to talk like a sailor from my late departed Thaddeus and I’m too old to start speakin’ like a genteel lady now.”
“I doan mind, Missus Snodgrass. Me ‘n Gid both spent time in the Militia and I’ve heard just about everyting.”
“Not from a woman, I’ll bet, but never mind. So, what’s so damned important that you have to go pounding on my door at such an hour? What time is it, anyway?”
“Just twelve, Missus Snodgrass.”
“Midnight? No wonder I’m so damned tired!”
“Noon.”
“Oh. Well, no wonder I need a nap!”
Ephriam couldn’t help but laugh with the witty old woman.
“Now, boy, ya wanted me ta tell ya about what happened across th’ street.”
“Er, yeah! But, how’d ya know?”
“I may be blind as a bat and I know some folks calls me peculiar in the head, but I ain’t stupid. Why else would ya be here? Unless ya really are courtin. ‘ But I haveta warn ya that I ain’t available.”
Ephriam laughed again. “Sure dat’s me own loss, Missus Snodgrass.”
“It sure as hell is, boy! There may be snow on the roof,” she pulled a white strand of hair from under her cap, “but they’s still hot coals in the hearth! Hee hee!”
As they all laughed, Sophie came in with a tea pot with sugar and three cups on a tray
Loved your excerpt, Ella! 😀
Thank you, Karen.
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