Due to the blog tour, I missed last week. So today, post any excerpt of 500 words or less. Keep it PG-13. I also invite you to post your buy links and social medial info.
The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh
Here is mine from my new release, and Amazon bestseller, The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh.
Anna was at the table with her breakfast plate and had poured a cup of tea when Rutherford walked in.
She blinked. “What would you like?”
“Tea and food?” He smiled, charmingly.
“Help yourself to the dishes on the sideboard.” She waved her hand in the direction. “I’ll serve you tea. Are you early, or am I late?”
“I’m early. I awoke at dawn, and rather than bothering my staff, I came here. I knew you’d be up. Besides, I rather like the idea of eating breakfast with you.” He’d like the idea even more if he’d woken up with her. Anna blushed as if she’d heard him. “Where would you like to ride this morning?”
She tilted her head first one way then the other. “Hmm, I don’t know. Where would you like to go?”
He studied her face. “Not really fair turning the question back to me. I haven’t ridden the beach in a while. What do you think?”
A smile dawned on her beautiful face and grew broad. “The beach it is.”
Less than an hour later, they entered the shoreline from the opposite end of the one he was on last night. They walked their horses for a while, before nudging them faster, galloping down the beach. Rutherford tried to look for any changes since the last time he’d been here, but it was too long ago.
He hung back a little to watch Anna ride. A creature of nature. She infected him with the same desire to be free.
“Race,” he called.
She urged Thunderer faster. Her horse was a good seventeen three hands. He’d been there when Harry had bought the horse for Anna and had tried to talk Harry out of giving such a large horse to his little sister. Harry had remained firm, saying Anna rode as well as either of them, and that she deserved the same type of horse. It occurred to Rutherford his friend had been right. Anna reached the end of the beach with Rutherford behind.
She turned, smiling. “Did you let me win?”
“No. You did have a head start though. I should have called the race when I was even with you.”
Anna glanced narrowly at him, as if she didn’t believe him.
“I was thinking about when Harry bought him for you.”
“Ah. Did you approve?”
He smiled ruefully. “Not at the time. I can see now why he did it.”
She grinned. “I’ll let you race me back.”
“You call the mark.”
“Very well, on three. One, two, THREE!”
She took off at full pelt. It was all he could do to come in on her tail. They walked the heaving horses into the surf to cool them down and then back up the path to the cliffs.
“I love it here,” she said. “I love the wildness, the sea, the air. I love everything about it. I want to stay here forever.”
Buy links:
Amazon US ~ Amazon Canada ~ Amazon France ~ Amazon Germany ~ Amazon UK ~ Barns & Nobel ~ Kensington * iTunes
ellaquinnauthor
This is a snippet from my novella, Under a Christmas Spell:
Shortly before dusk on the twenty-third of December, Lord Valiant Oakenhurst rode into a copse a short distance from Westerly House. He hadn’t done what he was about to do in ages, and the last time he’d been lucky not to kill himself in the process.
This time he was slightly better prepared. He wouldn’t ruin good clothes in the process, because this was England, not wartime France, so he didn’t need perfect cover. Today he had purposely chosen a threadbare shirt and a too large coat he wouldn’t have given to a groom. He took out two cravats and set them conveniently ready for use.
Then he removed a loaded pistol from his saddlebag, took very, very careful aim, and shot himself in the arm.
Hell! It was only a scratch, but it hurt as badly as last time. His horse, formerly a cavalry mount, must have forgotten its training, for it took exception to the sudden noise, snorting and sidling, and almost unseated Valiant against a tree. Cursing, he got it under control, barely preventing the cravats from slipping to the ground. He shed his ruined coat, wound the cloths about his arm and tied them as tight as he could with his free hand and his teeth. He was still bleeding, but it would have to do.
He wheeled his horse and set out for Westerly House.
I can’t figure out how to post a cover in the comments! It doesn’t let me copy and paste an image… But here are the buy links:
http://tinyurl.com/k7ddelx (Amazon.com)
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/under-a-christmas-spell-barbara-monajem/1116133520?ean=9781460322178
http://www.harlequin.com/storeitem.html?iid=49701
I loved this books, Barbara. Thank you so much for posting.
Thanks, Ella!!
Here’s an excerpt from my current WIP an edwardian novella called “Ivy”.
Ivy Leighton swiped at the billowing black clouds smothering her. Coughing, she lifted the driving goggles up off her face and tossed them into seat of the new Hudson Speedabout. The broken speedabout. Her father was going to be furious. She’d asked to drive it and only a few miles from her intended destination the engine had a ghastly screeching sound like a dying falcon before it died. Black smoke billowed out from beneath the yellow hood, painting a dark picture against the deep blue sky.
“Oh dear,” she muttered. She wiped her brow with the back of a gloved hand and it came away dirty. A cool September breeze teased at a loose tendril of her hair from beneath her hat flat hat and she tried to brush it away but the thick veil tied around her hat made it more than a little complicated. She did her long fur-lined leather coat, a poor choice given that it wasn’t nearly as cold as she’d expected.
What on earth was she going to do? Walk to Hampton House? Why had she thought coming early by herself was a good idea? Because she was plagued by curiosity. Sixteen years ago she had left Hampton, her mother’s body barely cold in the ground. How much had the place changed? How much had he changed?
Leo…his name still made her shiver.
Handsome, charming, Leo. When she’d been eight, he’d been sixteen, a lifetime seemed to have separated them. Now she was twenty-four and he had to be…she did the math. Thirty-two? Would he still have the ability to consume her soul with those fathomless blue eyes? Apart of her was afraid to see him again after all these years. Had her girlhood memories been the stuff of fantasies or was he still the man she’d always loved. After six Seasons she hadn’t found a man yet that measured up to Leo Graham and she feared she never would. But…what if she arrived at Hampton House and found that he wasn’t the man she’d believed him to be?
With a little shake of her head, Ivy recalled the way he’d used to tease her and tap the tip of her nose with a finger and call her Button. Her nose had been rather button-like.
“Button indeed,” she muttered. Her nose was no longer a button, at least not completely. Leo hadn’t seen her since she’d outgrown her oversized eyes, knobby knees and the button nose.
Turning her attention back to the car, she knew she’d have to leave it on the shoulder of the road for now. She leaned over the car, reaching for her valise that was tucked behind the seat. The gravel on the road slipped beneath her boots and she cried out as she fell headfirst into the car. Her legs wiggled in the air as she struggled in vain to propel herself back upright.
The purr of another motorcar’s engine made her freeze. She could feel the skirt of her traveling dress bunching around her knees. Whoever had just stopped on the road had a prime view of her legs…The motor stopped and footsteps warned her of someone’s approach.
“Er…excuse me madam, but it seems you need assistance. May I help?” A rich, smooth voice asked.
“Oh, yes, please. I’m in a spot of bother it seems.” Ivy tried not to let it ruffle her that some strange man’s hands were on her calves, pulling them down as he righted her. She slid down the side of the car, her face heating and the blood pounding in her ears. When she turned to face her rescuer, her heart skittered to stop and she couldn’t breathe.
Leo.
Of course it would be him. He’d be the one to find her covered in road dust, legs flailing in the air and stuck with a broken down motorcar.
Is there no end to my bad luck?
Oh, how hilarious!! Thanks for posting this–I needed a big grin today. :~))
Thanks Barbara! It’s a totally messy rough draft right now (my current nanowrimo project), but I’m having fun trying my hand at this edwardian stuff after writing regencies. 🙂 So glad it made you laugh. I think the whole story is quite fun! 🙂
LOL, Lauren. Loved it.
From One Day’s Loving (being released today :)) ~ Persephone Mae Alden as first seen by attorney James W. Collins V and his law clerk, Harry. (Order One Day’s Loving here http://www.amazon.com/One-Days-Loving-Wildfire-Crimson-ebook/dp/B00FWYXDX0/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1384787966&sr=1-1&keywords=one+day%27s+loving.)
Harry made for the door, but it opened before he could touch the knob.
Huffing as if she’d run a great distance, a woman stood framed in the doorway. Her rain-sodden hair dragged down her face and across her shoulders. Her dress was muddy, crumpled, and her neckline askew. She smelled like a violet-strewn whiskey factory.
“This is no place for the likes of you. Get on your way,” ordered Harry. He shifted to block her path into the office. “I’m going for the police.”
“No, please. You don’t understand.” She stopped for breath. “I’m Persephone Mae Alden.”
Her elocution was at odds with her odor and appearance. Tremors shook the timid voice, and James noticed the shivers racking the woman’s small frame.
Harry snorted. “I doubt that. Miss Alden is a well-bred miss and would never. . .”
James finally recognized the delicate bone structure obscured by the mass of wet hair and moved Harry aside. “Forgive my clerk, Miss Alden. He’s somewhat overprotective.”
“Sir!” objected Harry. “You cannot believe this drab.”
“If you wore your spectacles, you would see that Miss Alden is no drab. I’m surprised you didn’t hear her identity in her voice. Come into my office, Miss Alden. I gather you escaped your captors. Harry fetch some tea.”
Great excerpt, Rue!!
Snort. Silly Harry! James doesn’t need protection…or does he??
Some great and fun excerpts.
Tweeted.
I agree Daryl.
A couple of weeks ago, I released Cameron and Heather, the first two books of my historical Scottish romance series, The Daughters of Alastair MacDougall. Here is an excerpt from Cameron…
Cameron swallowed hard. Could this be Robert Graham? Why was he here? Given his outrageous stunt with Da’s bull, what more could he want? The Grahams had severely wounded Fergus over that beast. Her ire rose, and she looked down her nose at the men. She would do her best to regain her composure; however, it wasn’t easy to remain dignified while stuck in a tree.
His gaze dropped to the fallen ladder. A grin spread across his handsome face. To her horror, he threw a leg over his saddle and slid to the ground. The twinkle in his eyes clearly displayed his delight in her predicament.
Her back straightened. “What do ye want? To cause more mayhem like yer dim-witted stunt of stealing my da’s bull? Do ye know what harm ye did? Do ye even care?”
One of the men scoffed. “Mayhem? Did ye hear that, Robert?”
So he was Robert Graham.
He advanced toward her. “Aye, I heard. But yer da was the clever fool who caused the bedlam, mistress. He had no reason to strap on his sword.”
Her breathing quickened, and her nostrils flared. “Da tried to recover his property. Ye were the ones who instigated the attack.”
He shook his head. “I see ye think like the rest of yer clan. So it’s fine for yer da to smear pig-slop over our new smokehouse and not suffer the consequences?”
“Consequences? That is what ye call yer senseless act?”
“Well, aren’t ye the bold one?” the other man behind Robert jeered.
Robert paused, his hands firmly affixed to his hips. “Do ye think it wise to insult and berate someone who can help ye out of that tree?”
He did have a point. “I don’t need yer help. I can get down whenever I want.”
“Can ye now?” The man peered at the fallen ladder, the basket of scattered elder leaves and then back at her.
She lifted her head a notch higher, bobbing slightly with confidence she didn’t feel. “When I’m ready to be down.”
He propped the ladder against the tree.
Her hand clasped her chest. “I’m fine, truly.”
He climbed the first couple of rungs, and the corners of his mouth tugged up, dimples pressing into his rugged face. “Aye, ye are that, but ye need my help, lass.”
And now they are on the Amazon bestseller list. Well done, Lane!!
Thanks, Ella! :0)
Good news, you didn’t miss last week. It still happened.
I’m attaching a bit about my Late Victorian humorous mystery series. I would love to get feedback on it. Xavier Thorn is reputed to be the real sleuth that inspired Doyle to create Sherlock Holmes. Vic is a 22 yr old woman who dresses and behaves as a young man. Xavier has hired her as his assistant/secretary. (men were secretaries back then.)
Fully dressed, Vic laid down on her bed. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but Claire’s parting words haunted her. What if Xavier Thorn did uncover her secret?
Aunt Maddy had allowed her to ‘become a boy’ when she and Claire arrived in England, orphans in need of a home. Victor’s initial reason to change her gender had been because she never wished to wear a dress after seeing her mother drown at sea, pulled to the bottom of the ocean by her heavy skirts. However, her new life soon became the only life she could imagine.
As a male, she could travel about town on her own, attend lectures closed to Maddy and Claire, and ride astride on spirited stallions. As a young man, she could do anything, learn anything, be anything. As a gentleman, she had endless opportunities. How could she ever go back to being a girl? The idea was unthinkable.
When Victor first attended Oxford, she had been terrified someone would notice differences and guess her secret, but a great many studious young men at the college had no interest in young ladies and drink. She fit in perfectly with them.
She no longer worried about people seeing through her disguise. For all practical purposes, she was a young man of twenty-two. She had no ‘tells’ to give her away. Her small breasts were crushed flat by the muslin undergarment that also thickened her waist, giving her a straighter masculine line. A modestly stuffed muslin roll attached to the bottom of the garment filled in the crotch of her pants.
No, after ten years of being a male, she was confident her secret would remain secure, even under the scrutiny of the renowned Xavier Thorn.
It did? Why don’t I remember it? Loved your excerpt, Liza.
Wonderful excerpts. Have none to share today but I love coming in and getting my reading fix here!
I love these. So fun to read through all the great excerpts! Tweeted!
This is an excerpt from my historical romance Lost Honor.
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.
Lost Honor is available in e-book and paperback from The Wild Rose Press, Amazon, and Barnes and Noble online. Buy links can be found on my website http://www.loreenaugeri.com
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
I remember this one, Loreen. I still like it.
Here’s a short excerpt from Keeper of My Scottish Heart, the first book in my Scottish Romance Series.
Fionn stretched his neck over his stall door and showing his teeth in a horsey grin, whinnied a welcome. Adaira chuckled. “Missed me, have you?”
She propped the parasol against the wall, then hurried to him. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she whispered, “I’ve missed you too. Forgive me for neglecting you. I’ve made a muddled mess of things, my friend.”
To her right another horse blew a hefty expanse of air before poking its head over the stall in greeting. Adaira ran a practiced eye over the beast. Not one of hers.
“Well, hello. Who are you, my lovely?” She smoothed a hand over the big mare’s satiny neck, coming to an abrupt halt and gasping when her fingers encountered a hardened scar. Adaira peered around the horse’s head. Even in the muted light she could see the rope-like scar encircling the mare’s neck.
“My God, you poor thing!”
Fionn, nuzzled the mare. Was she coming into season?
“You became a father again mere weeks ago. Behave yourself. She’s not part of your harem, you rogue.” She caressed his silky neck, then kissed his muzzle. “I’m going to miss you.”
Tears threatened. He shifted restlessly. “I know. You want to gallop across the moors. I wish we could. I’m not permitted to ride you at present.”
She laid her head against his. “Everything has changed. I have to wear gowns now, even when I ride.” Tears spilled over the rims of her eyes, streaming down her cheeks. “And, I have to use a sidesaddle. You’ll not like it, I’m afraid. I won’t either.”
Contemptible tears.
She wiped at her eyes with her fingers. She’d no handkerchief with her. It was still on the floor in her bedchamber. “We’ll never race across the meadows, ventre a terre, belly to ground, again. It’s unladylike.”
She gave up trying to stifle her tears. Clinging to Fionn, she gave way to the grief ripping at her heart. “Nothing will ever be the same,” she sobbed. “I’ve made a powerful enemy, and he’s determined to destroy me.”
Strong arms turned her into a masculine embrace. “Not destroy—subdue a trifle.”
Loved this, Collette.
Oh what fun! Here’s an excerpt from Matilda’s Freedom my Australian historical…that’s a mouthful! It’s available on Amazon and most other places…oh and it’s only $1.88 on Amazon if you are in the States – us Aussies have to pay more!!
Sydney, Autumn 1856
Chapter One
‘Paris is a city of contradictions—rich and poor, the glamorous and the debauched— and I loved every moment of it.’
Christopher Matcham turned his head as the girl’s breath caught, although he was uncertain whether the sound was from shock or delight. In another situation, he might have interpreted it as a sign of pleasure. Rocking back in his chair, he stared across the table at the delectable Miss Matilda Sweet.
Matilda radiated vitality and vivacity. In the flickering candlelight, her skin had an almost amber hue, highlighting her honeyed hair. Her wide eyes beckoned to him, and a tiny pulse flickered along her elegant neck. She might be a currency lass and of convict stock, but her looks were far from disappointing. She was so different from the women of Sydney society—and that of Paris.
‘Kit, I think you’re getting worse with age instead of better. Remember, there are ladies present.’
The delighted grin on Emily Bainbridge’s face belied her husband’s words. ‘Richard, don’t be such a stuffed shirt. I would love to hear about Paris. We get so little news from elsewhere, and I’m sure Matilda doesn’t mind.’
The girl smiled and lowered her eyes behind lashes that would have done a courtesan proud. Her hand fluttered to the column of her throat.
‘I am totally fascinated. I cannot imagine what Paris must be like. They say half the world visited the city for the Exhibition Universelle.’
Matilda’s low contralto rippled across his skin like a warm brandy, and the temptation to lean across the table and inhale her scent was almost overpowering. Clearing his throat, Christopher dragged his eyes away from her generous mouth and made an effort to pay due attention to his host and hostess.
‘Paris is certainly a fascinating city, full of intriguing layers. The upper classes cling to the skirts of the Emperor and Empress while on the seamier side, the commoners flex their muscles and enjoy life. The cafés are open day and night, and the entertainment is outrageous. La chahut dancers have claimed the streets as their own. Their acrobatic skills are phenomenal. The dancers kick their legs so high they can remove a man’s hat and then, of course, display delightful glimpses of their under—’
Richard coughed and placed a restraining hand on Christopher’s arm. ‘Kit, I think perhaps we should adjourn to my study for brandy and cigars while the ladies talk.’ He pushed himself to his feet.
‘Sit down, Richard. You will do no such thing. Please, Kit—continue.’ Emily turned to Matilda. ‘Matilda and I are enthralled, are we not?’
Matilda’s head dropped in a demure nod that did little to camouflage the impudent grin on her face or the flash in her brilliant blue eyes. The cheeky minx was enjoying every moment of it.
‘You were about to tell us about their undergarments, I think.’