It’s Memorial Day, which for me is a bit sad, so let’s liven things up with some witty dialogue. Post an excerpt of yours and buy links if you have them.
Here is mine from The Seduction of Lady Phoebe. The first book in The Marriage Game.
Her sister embraced Phoebe, and Hermione’s eyes twinkled as the children tried to pull their aunt away. “Not that I am not delighted to see you, my dear. But what, may I ask, brings you to me a week early and with no notice?”
Phoebe pulled a face. “Amabel is match making again.”
Answering an insistent tug on her skirts, Phoebe picked up little Mary.
Hermione shrugged. “Amabel has been trying to arrange a match for you since the first season after she and Geoffrey married, when you fagged her to death.”
“Yes, but this time she has gone beyond the line of what I can endure.” Phoebe pressed her lips together. “Though to be fair, she doesn’t know what he did.”
Her sister raised an enquiring brow.
Phoebe briefly closed her eyes. Hermione had seen her leave the gallery that day, but they had never discussed it.
“Amabel invited her brother, Lord Marcus Finley, to meet me in two days.” Phoebe adjusted Mary on her hip. “I told him eight years ago at Worthington’s estate, when we had that unfortunate contretemps, that I never wanted to see him again and nothing has changed.”
Hermione nodded. “I remember how upset you were.”
Holding Mary closer, Phoebe said, “Now that he has returned for good, I know I’ll not be able to avoid meeting him at some point, but I do not wish to be placed in the position where I must be alone with him. That’s exactly what would have happened had I stayed at Cranbourne Place.”
Phoebe was distracted by her niece, whose bouncing had become insistent. “What is it, my love?”
Mary took Phoebe’s face between her small chubby hands. “Don’t be ’set,” Mary said, and kissed Phoebe. “It be all wight.”
She held her closer. “Yes, sweetheart, I’ll be right as a trivet. Aunt Phoebe just needs to escape the troll.”
Hermione frowned. “That was a piece of high meddling on Amabel’s part to be sure. My dear, what will you do when you see him again? As Dunwood’s heir, Lord Marcus is bound to be at many of the same events you will attend.”
Her sister was right, Lord Dunwood was very politically active, as was her uncle, Henry, the Seventh Marquis of St. Eth. Phoebe raised one brow and haughtily looked down her nose. “If we meet, I shall, of course, be civil,” she said icily.
He sister burst into laughter. “Oh, yes, that look should send him to the right about.”
Phoebe responded, “Well, I certainly hope it does. The last time I had to punch him in the nose to dissuade him. It’s a shame I am too young to set up my own household.”
“Oh, Phoebe!” Hermione’s eyes widened. “Do you wish to set the ton on its ear?” She tapped her cheek, appearing as if she were deep in thought. “Hmm. I have just the thing. You could find a husband.”
“Et tu, Brute?” Phoebe tried to look hurt, but couldn’t stop the laugh. “Marriage to just anyone won’t solve anything.”
“Phoebe, we just have your best interests at heart. Surely there must be someone.”
“Well, Hermione, at least you do not try to make matches for me.”
“No, and I will not do so,” her sister responded. “You will know when you meet the right man, without any assistance from me or anyone else.”
Suddenly wistful, Phoebe raised her gaze to her sister’s. “Do you truly think I shall know?”
“I do indeed. You need only remember what Mamma told us. That when you find the gentleman of your heart, it will be as if he is the only person you can see.”
Buy Links:
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Ella Quinn ~ Author 
Fun excerpt, Ella! Lady Phoebe is a lively lady to say the least. 🙂 My excerpt if from my historical romance novel Only Scandal Will Do:
The Marquess of Dalbury took a step toward her and her stomach turned over, though not from the motion of the ship. She turned to flee but the marquess snared her wrist, holding her captive before him.
“I was waiting for you, Lady Katarina,” came his smooth reply. He gathered her arm in his, completely disregarding her outrage. “I have been up since dawn anticipating when you would awaken.” He smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he squinted against the light. “There has indeed been a change in plan. This ship is no longer sailing to America. As soon as it docks, however, I will be most happy to escort you back to your brother’s house.”
Kat gave a tremendous pull and squeezed her arm out of his. She whirled and pounded down the dark-planked deck in search of someone who could protect her from this wretched man. She found no one. Frantic, she tried to locate the helmsman, but found her way barricaded with barrels and boxes. She turned to find the marquess several feet behind her, leaning against the side of the wheelhouse. He still wore that damnable self-satisfied smile on his face.
“You do not trust my word on this, my lady? Shall we find your brother to confirm it?”
“Jack!” The pit of her stomach plummeted. Her brother had betrayed her, the despicable turncoat.
“Of course, I insisted Lord Manning act as chaperone to us last night, since we are not married…yet.” He smiled mischievously.
“As I made abundantly clear the last two times we met, my lord, I will see you in hell before I marry you.” She darted a look around the ship again, hoping for rescue, but not a soul stirred in the warm morning light. Damn! Had he put the whole crew ashore?
His smile broadened, if that was physically possible. “Actually, Lady Katarina, you have in the past likened me to your hope of heaven.”
She gave him a withering glance. Did the fool think to stand here and bandy words with her when she would just as soon push him over the rail?
As if reading her thoughts, he said quickly, “I can swim, Lady Katarina, so trying to throw me overboard will only delay our departure and ruin my suit.”
“I will ruin something else if I get the chance, my lord,” she muttered. Unable to bear facing him any longer, Kat lowered her eyes. “Where is my brother? If he is indeed on board.”
“Oh, he is here, have no fear of that. He is probably below having breakfast. Shall we join him?” Dalbury had the temerity to offer her his arm, which she pointedly ignored and brushed past him, heading back the way they had come.
“How did you manage to stop the ship’s sailing? Did you bribe the captain? Or is the owner a friend of yours?”
“Indeed, Lady Katarina, the captain was quite impervious to bribery.”
“So what did you do?”
“I bought the ship.”
Katarina stopped to stare at him in open-mouthed amazement. She glanced from side to side at the empty deck. “Did you forget to hire a crew?”
Only Scandal Will Do is available at:
Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Scandal-Will-Do-ebook/dp/B008MNDCS4/ref=tmm_kin_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1369666970&sr=8-1
B & N: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/only-scandal-will-do-jenna-jaxon/1112953790?ean=9781616504328
Love this excerpt, Jenna!!
Wonderful post.I am soooo getting this when it finally comes out. How long until Sept???
Here a little exchange between Capri and Thall – from Capri’s Fate.
Unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn, Capri sniffed and asked, “So Captain Hall, when do we leave?”
Thall rubbed his chin and grinned. “My mechanic told me he told you about the storm outside.”
“Oh he did, did he?”
“Yeah. Conversation went like this.” Thall removed the captain’s hat. “Boss man, there’s a pretty lady out there wantin’ to go flyin’.” He placed the cap on his head. “Did you tell her it’s a frickin’ cyclone out there.” Taking the hat off his head, he nodded. “I did. I told her, but she insisted.”
“It’s just some rain.” Capri waved in the direction of the storm. A flash of light and a clap of thunder punctuated her statement. “Okay. And a bit of that for effect.”
He hitched a hip onto the table. “Why are you so gosh darn gung-ho on getting out of here?”
Capri ran her fingers through her hair, which only succeeded in releasing more stray hairs to fall about her face. “This is my first business trip as the new Chief of Operations for the South Pacific Region, and I want to make a killer impression. And I want to get there, but you are keeping me here all because of some stupid storm.”
A gust of wind rattled the doors and thunder rolled overhead. Capri looked at the ceiling. “Oh shut up. And stop raining.”
LOL, Daryl!! That was wonderful!
As always, I love reading your excerpts, Ella! The story I’m currently writing is almost finished, so it doesn’t have a buy link, but at the end of the excerpt, I’ll leave a link for book #1 of this series.
In this excerpt I have my secondary characters livening up the story. She is a maid and he is Marquees of Hawthorne. Dominic (Nic) is trying to keep Tabitha entertained so she doesn’t disturb Lady Hollingsworth as she has a private talk with Lord Tristan (who are the hero & heroines in this story). Tabitha is trying her hardest to prove to Nic she can’t stand him…and Nic is trying his hardest to charm the woman because he’s never met a woman he couldn’t charm…until now. lol
“Indeed, I think I have been mistaken about you. Now I can clearly see that seduction is not what you want at all. It’s obvious that you are too frigid to be the kind of woman who is passionate like that.” He nodded. “Now I see why no man has claimed you for his own yet.”
She inhaled sharply and her whole body went stiff. “What?” she shrieked. “You cannot be serious.”
“Oh, I’m indeed very serious. Everything is beginning to make sense.” He gave a light laugh as he stood and walked to the liquor tray, tempted to pour himself another drink, but refrained for the moment. “You are the first woman I’ve come across who didn’t enjoy my attention. Now I know why.”
“That is not why!” She jumped to her feet and stormed toward him.
He held up his hands in surrender. “No need to get upset. It’s all right to admit that you are not interested in men.”
“For the love of—” she muttered something incoherently. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, and you are very wrong. I am indeed interested in men.”
“Actually, you’re not.” He grinned.
Tabitha stomped her foot. “I am!”
“Forgive me for not believing, but you have shown nothing of the sort, my dear.”
Her face turned so red he thought it would explode. She grumbled under her breath.
He’d give anything to know her thoughts right now. Taunting her this way was quite enjoyable, and yet…it was as if he wanted to goad her into doing something that only happened in his dreams.
Shame on him because he’d never had to sink to this level with a woman before. If teasing her and seeing the fire in her eyes wasn’t so stimulating…
“You insufferable…jackanapes! If you weren’t so thick-skulled, you’d see…” She gnashed her teeth. “Augh!”
He wanted to laugh out loud, but he worried she’d catch on to his game. “Tabitha, there is no need for name-calling. I promise I shall not speak a word to anyone about this discovery.”
Stepping closer, she clutched his shoulders. “If I didn’t hate you so much, I’d…I’d…”
“You would what, my dear?” he said almost in a whisper, hoping she’d do what he wanted her to do.
Her gaze pierced his before it wandered over his face, coming to rest on his mouth. Dryness gathered in his throat, and he didn’t dare move, especially when her angry expression slowly disappeared and was replaced with one he never imagined he would see on her.
** Book #1 of this sweet Regency romance series is “The Sweetest Kiss” http://amzn.com/B0066HBZBE
Book #3 (the one I’m working on now), The Sweetest Touch will be available some time in June! **
Very nice, Marie. Thank you so much. Loved the interplay.
I can’t resist a Heyer here (from The Nonesuch):
“…Don’t scold me! If you knew how unhappy I’ve been–!”
“I do know. But what you don’t know is that if you don’t take your face out of my coat, and look at me, you will be still more unhappy!”
She gave a watery chuckle and raised her head. The Nonesuch, his arm tightening round her, kissed her. The phaeton jerked forward, and back again, as Sir Waldo, who had transferred the reins to his whip-hand, brought his restive wheelers under control.
Miss Trent, emerging somewhat breathlessly from his embrace, said, in shaken accents: “For goodness’ sake, take care! If I’m thrown into a ditch a second time I’ll never forgive you!”
I love Heyer. From her later books, I really think that if she was writing today she would have had more kissing and other stuff. Thanks so much for posting this, Angelyn.
Oh boy. Can see where Phoebe is headed.
Here’s a bit from WYOMING ESCAPE. Contemporary romantic suspense.
The server greeted the newcomer as she rang up the charge. “You seem frazzled, Harry. What’s up?”
The gray-haired woman, dressed in a plaid shirt, jeans and boots, strode up to the counter and pressed her palms together as if praying. “Please tell me George is in the kitchen. Tell me he’s not off on one of his trips.”
“Sorry, afraid it’s Ted, all by himself and not happy about it. What’cha want with George?” The waitress handed Mikela her change, then poured a cup of coffee and placed it in front of the new arrival.
The woman called Harry sank on the closest stool and rested her cheek on a fist. “I need his help. Shorty fell off the wagon big time and I’m stuck with thirty-eight guests and no cook.” She looked up, a pleading expression on her lined face. “When will George be back?”
The server grimaced in commiseration. “Not for another week, I suspect. The fishin’s real good and he usually don’t come home ’til everyone has their limit.” She ducked closer and continued in a whisper. “With his help, of course.”
Harry swiveled her head back and forth. “Why’d Betty have to retire and move to Florida? I never had any problems with her.” She sipped the coffee then thumped down the cup. “You know I’m worthless in the kitchen.” She grabbed some napkins from a dispenser and mopped up the coffee she’d spilled. “I can’t give this corporate group sandwiches and soup for the rest of the week. I’ll never get another booking from them or anyone they talk to.”
***
The rancher needed a cook. She wanted a place to rest and hide. Maybe it was time to take a break and stay in one place for a while. No one would expect to find the ultimate city girl in a small, western town in the middle of cattle country.
Bracing her shoulders, Mikela spun around and re-entered the café. She strode up to Harry and stopped beside her stool. “I might be able to help you out. What kind of meals do you need?”
The older woman peered at her with wide, gray eyes. “Say that again.”
“I can cook for you—for a few days.”
Harry sat back and studied her for a long minute. “Are you for real? Not a figment of my imagination?”
“You’ve got thirty-some guests to feed? Given the area, I assume simple, hearty meals?”
“Not too hearty. We get lots of big city folks who watch their waistlines. They still want tasty food though.”
Mikela nodded. “Sounds right.”
The woman stood and stuck out her hand. “I’m Harriet Holden. Harry to most people. I run the Triple H guest ranch. And you’re hired.”
“I’m Mikel…” Damn, she’d done it again. She coughed and cleared her throat, hoping to hide her mistake. “Michelle Brown. Don’t you want to hear about my training or anything?”
“Hell, Mike, if you’re willing to cook for thirty-eight guests plus half as many staff, you must know what you’re doing—or be an escaped lunatic. You don’t look loony to me.” Harry fished a dollar bill out of her pocket, put it by her coffee and headed for the door. “Let’s get out to the dining hall and see what you can do.”
Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/bhgcakn
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Apple: http://tinyurl.com/ba9jhqy
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Looks like Mikel has something to hide. Great job, Kate!
Hi, Ella. This is fun. I’m enjoying all the excerpts. Here’s one from The Secrets on Forest Bend. Adam calls to check on his partner, Ruben, out with a ruptured appendix.
“Hey, buddy. Que pasa? How you feeling?”
“I’m coming along. I’ll be fine if my mother and I can keep from killing each other until I’m able to go back to my own apartment.” Ruben’s voice still lacked its usual deep rumble.
“That’s what you get for not having a lady in your life. Or should I say just one lady? Speaking of ladies, how’s your scar look? Will they be impressed with your bravery?”
“It’s not as big as I’d hoped. I’ll tell them I was in a knife fight. There’s some truth to that. The doc had a knife and I put up a fight. How’s it going there? You miss me yet?”
“Only because you’re better at deciphering a paper trail. I have to run all over town chasing down a gun with a history as long as my dick.”
“That short, huh?” Ruben chuckled. “Quit bellyaching and get to work. I don’t want to find a big stack of open cases waiting on my desk when I get back.”
“I don’t bellyache,” Adam shot back.
“Only to me and that dopey cat. If the cat starts answering you we need to change places and you can lie in bed for a while. Talk about needing a lady in your life.”
“I tried that. Then I really had things to complain about.”
Here’s the link to Amazon: http://amzn.to/OiGNBD
Great excerpt, Susan!! Thanks for stopping by.
Everyone of these excerpts is fabulous!
Here’s a snippet from Highlander’s Hope. The hero, Ewan McTavish is verbally sparing with Yancy, the Secretary of War.
* * *
Ewan’s gaze trailed Yvette’s path across the entry until she disappeared from sight.
Yancy snorted.
Ewan met his amused gaze. “You do understand we are not betrothed? I made that quite clear when I asked for your help obtaining the license.”
Nodding his head, Yancy exclaimed, “Ye gods man, you are truly taken with her though. When was the last time you saw her? Two years ago?” He held up two fingers, a sly smile quirking his mouth. “I say, my dear fellow, have you been carrying a torch for Miss Stapleton all this while?”
His gaze skimmed Ewan. “That explains so much. Indeed it does.”
Ewan schooled his features. His friend need not know that mayhap there was a small grain of truth in his speculating. “The others?”
“Ah, well, as to that, I’d a pressing need to be rid of Rothingham and Fielding.”
“Pressing need? Do tell.” Ewan knew full well Yancy only tolerated Fielding. He grinned when Yancy sent him a scathing look.
“So, I sent them on an errand to the docks.” Yancy indicated the general direction of the wharf.
“Ah, the docks.”
“To seek word of Marquardt.”
“Very clever.”
“‘Tis a complete waste of their time.”
“Indeed.”
“But, at least they aren’t snuffling round annoying me.”
“How sensible.” Ewan’s grin widened when Yancy faced him, legs spread, arms akimbo.
“Do tell, are you enjoying mocking me?”
“Immensely,” Ewan admitted, waggling his eyebrows.
Yancy threw his hands in the air before stomping to a chair and sitting. He glared at Ewan, then shook his head and smiled sheepishly. “I’ve been duly chastised. No more prying into your, ah, relationship with Miss Stapleton. Can we get on with it?”
Ewan cocked his head. He wasn’t sure he was ready to let the matter go yet. He rather liked the verbal sparring. He found it quite invigorating, though a round in the ring or a bout of fencing would be much more satisfying.
No, a rousing romp in bed was what he really wanted.
Highlander’s Hope is available on Amazon.com.
This a wonderful excerpt, Collette! Thanks for stopping by.
I always enjoy these!!!! Love reading them & of course, Phoebe will sky-rocket on release!!
I’m posting part of mine latest wip, the prequel to Love & Vengeance (TBR 4/2014) – Tears for 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 if continued.”
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.
Gina, thank you so much. I really loved your excerpt!
Here’s a witty discussion after a near death experience from Worst Week Ever releasing July 15th.
Trent’s arms tightened around Carrie as the limo picked up speed again. “We’re okay,” he assured her, then his lips pressed against her temple. His calm certainty silenced her tremors.
Having successfully soothed her, he released his outrage upon Sam. “Why the hell did you drive us through here?”
Sam calmly replied as he drove the car at a billion miles an hour, taking corners at deadly speeds. “I warned you the locals might not welcome us.”
“Someone just shot at us?” Trent yelled.
“I’m sure they didn’t mean for you to take it personally, sir.”
.
Hahaha, that’s great, Liza!!
Great excerpt, Ella! Wasn’t sure I had a scene that would fit here, but I thought I’d try this one from my new time travel romance, Thoroughly Modern Amanda.
Excerpt:
He tossed in bed, the nightshirt wrapped around his body. How did any man sleep in a thing like this?
Swearing, he lifted the sheet and grasped the hem, yanking the garment up around his waist. He undid the buttons and lifted it over his head, tossing the shirt to the floor.
He breathed a sigh of relief but was now completely naked. With women coming in and out of his room, he’d have to find the clothing he’d arrived in.
Grasping the sheet, he rose slowly. Slight dizziness swept over him, but once he sat upright, it faded. He held the bedpost and stood, wrapping the sheet around his waist. He shuffled across the floor to a chest of drawers. He hoped his clothes hadn’t been taken to the wash. Then he’d really be in deep shit.
He opened one of the drawers and found male clothing, although he wasn’t sure it was his. Maybe Amanda’s brother. Glancing toward the screen, he noticed a pile of folded clothes on top of the dresser.
He stepped toward the clothing but stopped at the sound of a click. His gaze slipped to the door. Someone was turning the knob. He held his breath and clutched the sheet around his waist.
The door cracked, followed by a gasp.
“Sorry. I’m not quite decent,” Jack called out.
Amanda stood wide-eyed, staring at him. Instead of apologizing and leaving, she stood gazing in through the partially open door.
Jack grimaced. “I’m trying to find some clothes.”
“Where’s your nightshirt?” She glanced toward the heap of cloth on the floor by the bed. “Oh!”
“I needed to take it off,” Jack explained. “Too confining.”
She bit her lip, her eyes bright. Her hand rose to her lips. Was she stifling a giggle?
“Jack…the clothes you were wearing when I found you are on top of the dresser.” She bit her lip, peering at him, her gaze lingering on his chest.
He wrapped the sheet tightly around him and stepped toward the dresser. Sorting through the clothes with one hand, holding the sheet with the other, he produced what looked like underpants, although they appeared to be knee-length.
He padded back to the bed, noting Amanda glanced toward the hall. Serve her right if her father caught her spying.
“Are you going to stand there and watch? Why’d you come anyway?”
Amanda swallowed. “Of course not. I just thought I should check on you…to see if you needed anything.” She appeared to be suppressing laughter at his predicament.
He shuffled to the bed but turned back once to scowl. “So glad I amuse you,” he muttered. “As you can see, I’m fine. You can leave now.”
She giggled, then quieted. “I’m sorry, but you do look funny walking about in a sheet.”
“You wouldn’t think it was so funny if I dropped it.” He plopped onto the bed.
Her face turned beet red. “You wouldn’t dare,” she challenged.
He grinned. “Don’t bet on it.”
Thoroughly Modern Amanda is available from The Wild Rose Press http://www.wildrosepublishing.com/maincatalog_v151/index.php?main_page=product_info&cPath=176_135&products_id=5074
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/Thoroughly-Modern-Amanda-ebook/dp/B00AQAIHHW/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1355948640&sr=1-1&keywords=Thoroughy+Modern+Amanda
Barnes and Noble http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/thoroughly-modern-amanda-susan-macatee/1114008539?ean=2940016112596
and All Romance Ebooks https://www.allromanceebooks.com/product-thoroughlymodernamanda-1026307-141.html
That was fun, Susan! Thanks for posting.
Just love the excerpt, Ella! FUN!
Jenn, thank you. I’m glad you liked it!
Great excerpt Ella!!! I adore precious Mary!
Thank you so much, Christi!
Poor Phoebe! She is surrounded by matchmakers! Thank goodness she has such a darling ally in Mary.
Here is an excerpt from my very first manuscript. It was originally titled Lost in Love, but is now Seduction in His Smile. The character of Benetton Tildenbury is introduced in this book. Many of you have met him in His Charming Seductress now Wicked in His Arms. You can see what a fun character he is and why I chose to make the heroine of Wicked in His Arms Bennie’s sister.
“Come on, Selridge, let a chap in,” a voice wheedled from the hallway. “The place is crawling with wedding goings on. Terrible on my nerves, don’t you know.”
“Come in, Tillie.”
Benetton Tildenbury slipped into the room, pulled in his companion, and slammed the door like the hounds of hell were on the other side. Marcus looked to the ceiling and sighed. Trust his mother to invite the most bluntly outspoken man in the entire ton and England’s foremost male gossip to what was supposed to be a private family event.
“I say, Selridge, splendid room you’ve got here,” Tildenbury observed as he glanced around the darkly elegant master bedchamber.
“Why wouldn’t it be, you dolt?” Harold Creighton asked. “He is the bloody duke, after all. I suspect they let him have his pick of chambers.” He turned to Marcus and stuck out his hand. “You’re looking fit, Selridge. Felicitations and all that rot.”
“Thanks, Creighton. What brings you two out to the country? All the gambling hells burned to the ground?”
“Your mother fetched us out.” Tildenbury sprawled into the chair by the fire. “Had us fetched, I should say. Said you needed someone to stand up with you. So here we are. Ready to do our duty.”
Marcus smiled and shook his head. He’d not given a thought to asking someone to stand up with him at the wedding. He had always imagined it would be Julius standing next to him when he married. Dear old Tillie seemed oblivious to it. Creighton, on the other hand, missed nothing. Never had. That, and his genuine pleasure in broadcasting the foils of his fellow man, made him an interesting and sometimes damned annoying companion.
“I daresay we are the only two of your school friends she remembers, old man,” he said. “And I, for one, am not so foolish as to turn down an invitation from a woman like the soon-to-be dowager duchess.”
“You mean a summons, don’t you, Creighton?” The two men exchanged a grin, while Tillie nodded in solemn agreement.
“Quite so, Selridge. Harry has the right of it. She sent that man of yours round to the clubs, don’t you know. Only a fool would refuse your mother.” He gave Marcus a jovial smile. “So here we are and ready to see you leg-shackled, well and proper. Right, Creighton?”
“Absolutely, Tillie.” Creighton sat on the ornate blanket chest at the foot of Marcus’s bed. “So, Selridge. Care to tell us how you managed to get jilted by one sister, only to get yourself betrothed to the other in less than a year’s time?”
“No, I do not.” Marcus held the ends of his cravat up in both hands. “Make yourself useful, Creighton. Tie this damned cravat.”
“Where is your valet?” Creighton made no move whatsoever to come to Marcus’s aid.
“Don’t have one. I’m a cavalry officer. I never needed a valet. Tillie, tie this for me.”
“Me?” Tillie sounded like a wounded old woman.
“Yes, you, Tillie. Your cravat looks quite good.”
“Do you like it? It’s my valet’s own invention. He calls it the “tildenbury” in my honor.”
“It’s lovely.” Marcus looked at Creighton and they both rolled their eyes. It reminded him of their days at Oxford. “Now tie mine and we can be off to the church.”
“Couldn’t possibly. I can barely get into my small clothes without my valet. He was sick for a week last winter, and I spent the entire week in my dressing gown. Dreadful.”
Creighton erupted into a coughing spasm that sounded very much like “holy hell.”
Marcus looked at the clock on the mantel.
“You brought your valet with you,” Creighton reminded Tillie none to gently. “Run and fetch him, while I question our friend about his lovely bride.”
“Don’t you move, Tillie,” Marcus commanded. “You go and fetch his valet, Creighton. I don’t want to be left alone with the likes of you.”
“You cut me to the quick, Selridge. I would never browbeat a duke. You are a duke now, you know. You really should have your own valet.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me I’m a duke? I’m not a complete idiot.” Marcus snatched off his cravat and threw it across the room.
His friends looked at him in an eerily thoughtful silence for a moment.
“So,” Creighton said with a grin. “Did she say you were an incomplete idiot?”
“Who?”
“Your lovely bride. Only a woman could evoke a reaction like that in a man.”
Marcus’s head continued to throb. He glared at Creighton and then turned the same glare on Tillie, who sat up straight in response.
“Actually, Selridge, my valet is dressing m’brother at the moment. It could take some time.”
Marcus looked at Creighton, aghast, to which the man shrugged.
“We had to bring him. Tillie’s grandmother insisted. She thought there might be some eligible chits here who might, well . . .” His voice trailed off when he saw the look of amused understanding on Marcus’s face. Tillie’s brother, Hubert, was thirty-five years old, unmarried, heir to the Earl of Wickenshire and weighed approximately . . . Well, venturing a guess at Hubert’s weight was a game they all played when they were at Oxford. Nowadays it was too mind-boggling a prospect to contemplate. If Tillie’s valet was attempting to lace, squeeze and strap Hubert Tildenbury into morning clothes, Marcus dared not ask him to stop long enough to look at his cravat, let alone tie it. Whatever Tillie was paying the man, it was not enough.
“What happened to the fellow who took care of you while you were off defending king, country and the rest of us? Your betsman?” Tillie asked.
“Batsman, Tillie. He was my batsman.” Thank God the years Marcus had spent dealing with the man at Oxford had inured him somewhat to Tildenbury’s insensitive disinterest in anyone in service. “I lost him at Waterloo.”
“Lost him? How does one go about losing a servant?” The question was asked in dead earnest. Myopic eyes blinked up at Marcus from the fireside chair. “Terribly careless of you, Selridge.”
“The man died.” Creighton’s voice was as brittle as autumn leaves. “He died at Waterloo, you idiot. You remember Waterloo, don’t you? Where Selridge here lost his handsome looks, his smooth gait and damned near his life?”
Had Tillie not looked so stricken by their friend’s chastisement, Marcus might have let Creighton go on indefinitely. He knew the man to be capable of such. As an only son, heir to a vast estate, Harold Creighton, had not been allowed to join the fight against Napoleon. He resented it terribly. One day Marcus was going to tell him exactly how lucky he had been in that denial. “Leave it, Creighton. It doesn’t matter. You are right in one thing, Tillie. Ponsby took good care of me. He would, no doubt, have me rigged out in right proper order at this point, were he here. He was an excellent valet as well as an excellent soldier.”
“Quite right,” Tillie readily agreed. Then he smiled. When Tillie smiled like that, everyone who saw him was reminded of a rather faithful hound. Not a soul who knew him, on seeing that smile, expected anything more intelligent than the thoughts of a hound to come out of his mouth. On occasion, however, he astounded them all, including himself. “I say, Selridge. Why don’t you use your brother’s man? Joffries? Jeffers?”
“Jeffries? Julius’s valet is here?” It was official. His mother had invited everyone between London and Yorkshire to this circus of a wedding. A wedding that was supposed to be quick and quiet, in the hope of avoiding a scandal. If it was not happening to him it would be funny. He looked at Creighton, who in true Creighton fashion, shrugged once more.
“Saw him downstairs in the foyer with your mother,” Tillie continued. “Lovely woman your mother. Frightening as the devil, but lovely. Not one to brook refusals. She—”
“Tillie!” The poor man resorted to blinking like a sleepy owl again in response to Creighton’s sudden shout. “Go and fetch Jeffries so Marcus can get dressed for his wedding. Today.”
“What? Oh. Right. Jolly good, idea. I’ll just toddle off and do that. Won’t be a moment, Selridge. We’ll get you to the church. Never fear.” This last sentiment was expressed through a closed door, as Creighton had grabbed poor Tillie by the back of the shoulders and steered him out into the hall.
What a wonderful idea. Thank you. Available at: Crimson Romance ebooks | Amazon | B&N | iTunes This is an excerpt from my debut novel The Garnet Dagger. This is a paranormal romance. I’ve known death. For over half a millennia, I escorted many to death at the end of my sword. In the eyes of the dying, I watched it shroud them. Foolishly, I thought many more eras would pass before death came for me. It came so swiftly that I could not run; I could not escape. At a village, dressed in human clothes, I took in everything. By observing for eons, I understood and spoke their language. The world of mankind fascinated me. Their hobbled homes burrowed into the ground.
Rocks crunched on top one another with thatched roofs woven from straw. Never had I seen a home or inn that was higher than three levels, as if they were afraid of the sky. I delayed my return to my people as I watched human jugglers bounce torches and knifes. It was autumn equinox and the festivities would continue well into the night. Children laughed as they chased each other. A trail of leaves from their costumes twirled after them. It was dark when I reached the forest. Since I was already late, I hiked uphill to a shortcut rather than take the long path back home. I didn’t need to alert any of my kind near the barrier at this hour. Liana would wonder why I was late.
Tonight was the two month anniversary of our hand twining ceremony. One more month as was custom, and then we’d be wed. A gasp rustled through the trees. The roots shot a warning through to me with stifled caution. Adjusting my pack, I continued on instead of changing back into my Elvin clothes. After I passed the border which kept humans from entering our land, then I’d change. In the distance, I heard a groan. Curious, I spun in the direction of the sound. The autumn wind breezed through my worn human clothes, chilling me. But someone needed help. I turned in the direction of the sounds. Whatever made the noise should be a few yards ahead.
I hiked slower than my normal speed, so as not to startle whatever human called out. My leather boots crunched upon dried, diseased leaves and bark. Horrified, I glanced up. Branches twisted around each other to suffocating. Lifeless limbs cracked in the wind. Flesh of the trees sloughed off in layers, exposing its bones. Gashes hollowed out chunks of warmth. Fragments of leaves clung to finger tips, marking sepulchers of the dying trees. Trees mourned with wails like splitting wood, and I brought my hands over my ears. I must flee before I became infected, they told me. Flee before the stain of this defilement creeps into you, they warned. Trees spoke to my kind, always had. Yet these trees were in such agony of death that I could not breathe. Felt as though my lungs had folded in on themselves, like a moth unable to break loose from its cocoon.
Nothing I could do for them, and if I lingered too long, whatever disease gnawed upon them may choke me. Where would I go if I carried something so foul as to devour trees from the inside out? I’d never return to Tamlon if I brought this infection with me. I drew away, but a movement at the base of a decaying tree to my right caught me. My night vision picked up the sight of a human. His sallow face seemed to glow in the moonlight. Poking out from rags lay his arms and legs, which resembled skin stretched over sticks. So cadaverous was his face, I’d have thought him dead if he hadn’t moved.
“Please,” he said and his voice sounded like cicada’s vibrations, “help me.”
“What ails you in this troubled place?” I wondered if my voice, foreign to my ears in speaking the human’s language, revealed my nature.
“I am lost.” His dark eyes crinkled around the corners. “Without strength to rise. If you would but assist me up, I’ll be on my way.”
I’d never touched a human on purpose before. Was it that that gave me pause, or dread that stilled my heart? My feet itched to flee. As soon as I helped him, then I’d leave. I gritted my teeth and reached a hand down.
His gnarled fingers snapped on my arm, making me wince. Jerking me forward, his face contorted. Surprised by his strength, I fell beside him. Blackness curled around me. Teeth, fangs, broke through the skin on my neck. Then I knew him for what he was, a vampyre.
Lovely, Ella!! Great bit about ‘escape the troll’! teehee 🙂 Ooo, I didn’t know you’re gonna be at RWA Nationals! I am soooo excited to meet you!! We must do coffee or tea or just hang out for a few! Yay!! 😀
Thank you, so much Karen. Yes, we’ll have to plan to get together.