Usually we focus on the heroine and hero, but I though it would be fun to let our secondary characters shine today. If you have buy links or social media links, please post them as well.
Here two of mine from A Kiss for Lady Mary. Lady Eunice Phipson, is my heroine’s aunt and Mr. Brian Doust is the local vicar.
Mr. Doust twined her arm with his, drawing her close. “Invite me, and I’ll try to discover his intent.”
She gazed up at him. “You would assist in this the conspiracy?”
His eyes warmed. “My lady, I would have thought that by now you’d have realized there is very little I would not do for you and those who matter to you.”
“Oh my.” Warmth rose in her face. How long had it been since she’d blushed? “You have me acting like a girl again, and I must tell you, my salad days are long past.”
He raised her fingers to his lips, kissing them one by one. “I think you are the perfect age. I would be honored if you will call me Brian, and may I call you Eunice?”
This was more than she had expected and everything she had wished for. Pulling his head down to her, she pressed her lips to his. He moved slowly, gently at first; then she touched her tongue to the seam of his lips and he opened his mouth to receive her. Frissons of pleasure shot through her as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss. She threw her arms around him, pressing her breasts to his chest. Who would have thought a rector could kiss like this?
Their tongues tangled and caressed. He tightened his arms around her. Oh, God. How could she have lived so long alone?
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Now it’s your turn!
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Ella Quinn ~ Author 
Mnm!, Ella, secondary characters can be such fun and like your two, have fun. My excerpt shows, Lady Daisy, and she was such fun I wrote a whole book for her. I’m about to start edits for Lady Daisy’s Dilemma. Here she is in Mariah’s Marriage:
Mariah’s Marriage by Anne Stenhouse
Daisy hung back a little and fixed her piercing brown gaze on Peter’s smug countenance. They all waited and in seconds uncertain colour flushed across his cheeks.
“I think this must be the man who was supposed to be escorting you yesterday, Miss Fox,” Lady Daisy said. “I recognise him from the earl’s description: too old, too fat, and too stupid.”
Mariah breathed deeply lest she faint. Social niceties could be readily abandoned by anyone, it seemed. She heard Tilly’s hasty cough in the hall and knew it would be covering a snort of laughter, such as she made when the baker’s boy stopped by in the kitchen.
“Mama is well pleased with you I can tell. You may call at the house tomorrow morning at noon, if that is suitable for your arrangements,” Lady Daisy said and the words drew Mariah’s startled gaze to her. “Our town address is on the back of mama’s card.”
“Noon? Yes I think noon is suitable,” Mariah replied. “However, I may not be able to take up any position that involves leaving Papa.”
“All the Mellon properties are big enough to accommodate your papa, Miss Fox.” Daisy swept from the room.
amazon US http://goo.gl/JjY907 amazon UK http://goo.gl/4LWt1H kobo http://goo.gl/LaFygG
Anne’s blog http://goo.gl/ILNek6
Anne, many of my secondary characters get their own books as well.
Two of my characters from Farewell to Kindness, which will be released at midnight today Pacific Coast Time. Hannah is servant to my heroine, and John is my hero’s man.
“Will you not give me a kiss, Hannah?”
“I will not.” She tilted her chin up and looked away. But still, she didn’t leave his knee.
“Just a small peck, friendly like?”
She withered him with a scornful look. “I know your friendly pecks, John Price.”
He smiled, remembering a certain walk around behind the hedge that she used for the washing, when he had helped her with her heavy baskets a few days ago. She met his smile with a tentative one of her own, and though she smacked at the hand he slid around her waist, the smack was half-hearted.
“What kind of woman do you think I be, John Price?”
“A lovely woman, Hannah, and that’s the truth.”
She stood up suddenly, dislodging his hand. “This willna work, John. You know it.”
John followed behind her, skimming his hands up her arms to her shoulders. “I do not know it. Why not? I like you. You like me.”
She turned, and put her hand on his chest, shoving him away. “You have your Lord, and I my ladies. You’ll be off when he goes, and I…”
“You could come with me. My Lord, he wouldna say no. If we was wed.”
“Wed! You didna say wed! You never talked of… John, you barely knows me.”
John was surprised himself. He hadn’t thought of marriage till the words came out of his mouth. But it sounded right, somehow. “Hannah, what did you think I meant by you? Of course, wed.”
She blushed again, letting him close and put his arms loosely around her.
“I thought… Never mind. John, I never thought to wed.”
“Do you miss Cooper so much, then?” The man was dead. Why, then, this fierce jealousy?
“Cooper?” She looked bewildered for a moment. “No. I…” She rested her head on his shoulder, her face hidden in the cloth of his shirt. “When he didna come back from the storm, I was glad.” She looked up, then, her face fierce. “Glad! Do you hear me, John? Do you want a wife who was glad to be a widow?”
John stroked her cheek, then cupped her head to bring it back against his shoulder so that he could hold her close. “Did he hurt you, my Hannah? Did your husband beat thee?”
Her voice was muffled in his shirt. He strained to hear her reply. “He be dead and gone, John. I doesna’ need to fear him no more.”
He held her for a while, revelling in the way she tucked into his arms.
Eventually, though, she pushed away.
“But I canna leave my ladies, John. I canna leave my little Daisy. Fed her, I did, from the day she was born. It would break my heart to leave her.”
“What of my heart, Hannah?”
She looked up at him, tears standing in her eyes.
“Nay, dinna take on. We’ll think on it, and maybe we’ll think of sommat. ”
Buy links on my website at: http://judeknightauthor.com/books/farewell-to-kindness/
What a good idea, Ella – thank you. As an alternative to my modern day heroine and hero, Eilidh and Lewis, this is an excerpt from the historical part of The Highland Lass, which traces the story of Highland Mary and Robert Burns in Mary’s own fictionalised voice in 1785-6.
I smile at his flattery and do not reply. I’d rather find out more about his poetry.
“And you still write such good verse, I hope, sir?” I cannot bring myself to call him by his name.
He stops at that and looks at me strangely, as though surprised I should talk of it.
“All the time, when work allows, Mary. I have hopes of having a collection published one day. It’s hard work keeping the farm going and it’s something to dream of. And what are your dreams, if I may ask, Mary Campbell?”
I shrug, for truly I have not thought of many things. “To be happy and to be loved, I think.”
He laughs. “The one does not necessarily go with the other.” His words sound slightly bitter. Or perhaps I imagine that he speaks of Jean Armour.
Then he looks me full in the eyes. “But I should not think you’ll have trouble in being loved.”
I do not realise we are so close as we walk, but now his nearness makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. And before I can answer or guess at his intentions, he reaches over and kisses my parted lips.
My reaction is swift. I step back in confusion.
“Forgive me, Mistress Campbell, but you look so sweet with your concerned blue eyes. I forget myself.”
My heart has returned to its normal beat, but I cannot look at him. His kiss will linger in my mind far longer than the quick touch on my lips. But I don’t want his teasing, or his dalliance with a willing maid, or even his attempts at banishing another from his mind. The only way I will allow myself to be his, is if he is ever fully mine. And that day has not yet come, if ever it might.
“I must go now, sir,” I say, without looking at him. I walk away, my body on fire.
Rosemary Gemmell (also writes as Romy)
http://www.amazon.com/Highland-Lass-Rosemary-Gemmell-ebook/dp/B00TOTER6Q
Website: http://www.rosemarygemmell.com
What a sweet scene, Ella. I hope your secondary characters get their happily ever after. 🙂
Usually my secondary characters ask for books of their own, but here are some villainous characters from Lady of the Flames who don’t deserve anything good at all! (Andromeda, the heroine, is in the scene, but she’s being, very, very quiet behind the curtains.)
Andromeda stood utterly still, taking soft, shallow breaths. A few minutes, he’d said; it wouldn’t be long, and then he would leave, and—
Beside her, the terrace door opened. A breeze ruffled the curtains, stealthy footsteps sounded, and along with the aromas of tobacco and something sweet that she couldn’t identify, someone came in. He closed the door behind him.
“Quick, man,” came Lord Slough’s voice. “You’re late.”
“There were too many people on the terrace,” the other man said, “including a footman who hovered out there so long that I had to dispatch him.”
“You killed a footman? Are you mad? What an idiotic risk!”
The other made a noise of derision. “You fret for nothing. He will simply disappear, and his body will never be found.” The man spoke with a slight foreign accent. “When will the wagon be available?”
“The day after tomorrow. This will be the last shipment, my friend.”
The foreigner’s voice sharpened with annoyance. “The last one? Why?”
“Because I can buy only so much furniture without it appearing suspicious. I cannot take that risk.”
The man muttered an oath—in French. “Willingness to take risks proves your allegiance to our cause.”
Lord Slough made a rude noise. “It’s your cause, my friend, not mine. My only allegiance is to myself.”
“My master will not take kindly to such sentiments,” the foreigner said. “He does not appreciate unwilling servants.”
“I am no one’s servant,” Slough sneered. “However, I now have some extremely useful information for your employer and will soon be in a position to provide more.”
“That is for him to decide,” the other said. “What do you have?”
“The identities of two of England’s spies in France.”
There was a pause. “Dead men—who will be made to talk first,” the other said at last with a sinister chuckle. Andromeda’s blood ran cold. This man was a French spy…
Worse, Lord Slough was a traitor.
Only 99 cent! http://www.amazon.com/Lady-Flames-Most-Peculiar-Season-ebook/dp/B00T0JAWLO/
Thank you, Barbara!! I just finished reading your book!
“I’ll say it again, go home. There is nothing for you here.”
At first he didn’t respond only forced her to hold his gaze. He gripped her face a little tighter, and she scowled at him before wrenching away. Tyr knew better than to touch her like that.
The look on his face said she had proved a point he wanted desperately to make. “You would have ripped off my hand and fed it to me had I touched you like that three years ago.”
“No, I wouldn’t have. I would hate to deprive you of your love life.”
“Very clever.”
A squat man who looked distinctly gray, both in appearance and personality, stuck his head into her cubicle looked at both of them for a second before scuttling away. Both immortals stared after the man, but Scarlet recovered first. “That was my boss; you need to leave.”
He sat back as if he might get more comfortable squeezed into a small bit of metal and plastic. “War answers to no man.”
“Except you, you mean.”
“You said it.”
“Say goodbye and leave,” she warned, her anger simmering now. As much as this reminder of home was comforting, she still had no intention of going anywhere with him, even if he begged. The image of him nude doing just that clouded her mind for a moment, and she pushed it away. But for one fleeting second a fire entered her blood. A jolt of exhilaration she hadn’t felt in years. Damn, it felt good.
“Goodbye and leave?” he repeated, dragging her from her reminiscence.
“Just go.”
“I will not. Not until you agree to see me later.”
“No.”
“Then I won’t leave.”
http://www.amazon.com/Red-Horse-Paranormal-Romance-Revelations-ebook/dp/B00UA3DU54/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1427727313&sr=8-1&keywords=monica+corwin
Thanks so much Ella! I love the idea of secondary characters today.
This snippet is from Wagers Gone Awry (Conundrums of the Misses Culpepper, Book 1).
In this scene, Heath is getting an earful from his cohorts.
http://amzn.com/B00UQVRATC/
~~~~~
Hawksworth cast a practiced gaze to the graveyard. “And a funeral? The same day? Not precisely tasteful. I ran a bit behind schedule in London obtaining the license, hence my tardiness. I did wonder why Leventhorpe, and not you, made the request though, Raven.”
“Because he’s a bloody, interfering arse.” Heath marched to the house, just short of a run. He needed to talk to Brooke, explain the situation to her, convince her he’d known nothing of Hawksworth’s arrival until the moment he exited the carriage in all his celestial glory.
What if she changed her mind?
No, with Sheridan’s unexpected arrival, she had more reason than ever to marry him.
He hoped.
He’d seen the fear she’d tried to hide. Her cousin frightened her, or perhaps the power he’d been granted over her sister and cousins caused her trepidation. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t livid with Heath.
“Explain yourself, Trist, and be quick about it.” Heath gave Leventhorpe a sideways glare.
Leventhorpe shrugged as the trio climbed the steps, their boots clinking on the stones. “You talk in your sleep, Raven.”
Heath snorted. “I do not.”
“Trust me, you do, and you snore like a bloody lion in the process of choking on haunch of water buffalo. Your bride has my condolences in that regard. I really ought to warn her, but she might change her mind, and you’d be an even more unbearable sot.” Leventhorpe gave a theatric yawn behind his hand. “It’s a wonder I’m able to function at all, I’ve become so deprived of sleep.”
Hawksworth chuckled and gestured between Heath and Leventhorpe. “The two of you share a room? That ought to be interesting.”
“Yes, and he’s been muttering on in his sleep about marrying Miss Culpepper for days now…or, rather, for nights.”
“I have not.” Had he? Damn.
“Yes, you have. Incessantly. Enough to force me to bury my head beneath my pillow to muffle your nattering and become desperate enough to send for Hawk.”
They handed their hats and gloves to the waiting footman. He promptly trotted down the hallway, no doubt to assist in serving the meal.
“I thought I’d give you a nudge, Raven, since your conscience had already made the decision for you. And until last evening, we didn’t know if Avery would officiate at the funeral.” Leventhorpe inhaled deeply, peering in the dining room’s direction. “Hmm, something smells delicious.”
“Damned presumptuous of you.” Heath scraped his hand through his hair. “Now she’s furious with me. Thinks I manipulated her again.”
“Again?” Hawksworth peered at him, his gaze teeming with amusement and curiosity.
“Yes, that respectable miss lost a wager to Raven and agreed to become his mistress.” Leventhorpe gave Heath a brusque nod. “His terms, by the way.”
The comment pealed loud and reproachful in the entry.
“You intended to make that young woman your paramour?” Disapproval sharpened Hawksworth voice and features. “Far below par, and you well know it.”
“Yes, I bloody well know it, which is why, after the funeral, I asked her to marry me.”
Hawksworth grunted and folded his arms, looking very much an avenging angel. “Is there a single romantic bone in your body? Anywhere? I realize you’re not a sentimental chap, but proposing on the heels of a funeral service… Damned crass, that.”
“Exceedingly gauche.” Leventhorpe nodded his agreement, his attention straying down the corridor again. “But when one is desperate…”
“Why marry someone you’ve only known…” Hawksworth glanced to Leventhorpe for help.
“A week.”
“Eight days.” Heath promptly regretted the correction when his friends exchanged mocking glances.
“Yes, the extra day makes all the difference.” Leventhorpe drawled the word, earning him another murderous scowl from Heath.
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Thank you!!
This is from my new release The World’s a Stage – Reverend The Honorable Cecil Bridlington has just learned that his friend Peter was not really born a gentleman. His reaction –
““Dash it all, you behave like a gentleman! That ought to be enough.”
“But you know that it’s not,” Peter said. “You’re either born a gentleman, or you’re not.”
“That’s the notion, anyway,” said Cecil, dissatisfied. “But I have my doubts. Such a concept would call that dastard Grissam a gentleman and you not? The thing’s absurd!”
Peter stared at him, astonished at such heresy from an earl’s son. “Why, Bridlington, you sound like a radical.”
“I do? Well, perhaps I am,” Cecil said, adding with spirit, “and if so, it’s my mother’s fault!”
Peter blinked and pushed the brandy decanter toward him. “Tell me more,” he suggested.
“Oh, it was a number of years ago,” Cecil said, refreshing his glass. “Before you came to Town, certainly. My mother was after me to make a match of it. Had a candidate in mind, Lady Maria Tallbridge, you know, Tollinger’s daughter.”
“I don’t know the lady,” Peter said.
“You’ve missed nothing,” Cecil said with a frown. “The chit was a quiz, bad-tempered, homely and not particularly bright. No dowry to speak of, not that it mattered since I’d already inherited from my aunt. So I asked my mother what the lady brought to the match to make it worth my while, and Mama said she has the ‘blood’. Well, says I, if the blood can’t give her a sweeter temperament, a handsomer face, or anything much in the old brain box, then blood doesn’t seem to have much of value, does it?” He grinned now, remembering. “Lord, the look on Mama’s face! But she dropped the matter, and Lady Maria married some Scottish peer and went off and had a brood as dense and unpleasant as herself. Those could have been my brats! Fortunate escape altogether.”
“Fortunate, indeed!” Peter agreed.
“So!” Cecil concluded, “If you want to remain a gentleman, I’m certainly not going to stop you. You’re a pleasanter companion than most of these fellows to the manor born, so we’ll say no more about it.”
http://tinyurl.com/n5onhga
Hi Ella, thanks for the opportunity. These two have been getting a lot of comments in the Amazon and Goodreads reviews. The heroine’s brother and the housemaid both have what we would now call learning difficulties. Mary the housemaid is pregnant and is to marry the heroine’s brother but William has misunderstood something he has overheard and the two are running away to Gretna Green to get married, not realising how far away Scotland is from London
William was beginning to feel a little uneasy. He had butterflies in his belly and it had nothing to do with Mary sitting beside him, her head on his shoulder as she dozed, her hand lying protectively over her tummy. He still could not see anything.
He had plenty of money but the driver they had hired had given him a couple of funny looks when he had said he had wanted to go to Scotland. The driver had said it would cost to change horses in coaching inns and tonight was not looking good for driving through the night. William had accepted they would have to spend tonight in an inn. So Scotland was two days away. What did it matter? They would still be married quicker than if they waited the week and Charville would still be pleased.
When the driver had said he was not sure, William had pulled out his purse and asked how much for the whole journey up front. That had made the difference. The driver had calculated it, William had managed to get the driver to reduce the amount by a few shillings and they had both been happy with the result and William and Mary still had plenty of coins for inns and horses and to pay the blacksmith at Gretna Green.
But now they were out of the hustle and bustle of the city, he was no longer so sure of himself. Yes, he was an earl and grown up. But he had never been truly on his own. He had Mary of course. But he understood enough to know that Mary was like him and neither he nor Mary was clever and people could take advantage of him. What if the driver had already taken advantage of him?
He looked at his betrothed and at her belly. A tear welled up under his lash and he swiped it away. Damned tears. Grown men didn’t cry. But what if he could not look after them? What if he failed? He knew people in the ton thought he should be in some institution for imbeciles. What if he and Mary became too much for Harriet and Stephen when they had a family of their own? Stephen did not know but that was what Cavanaugh had said before he had insulted Mary at the garden party. And William had been too scared to talk to Stephen about it.
He pressed his nose against Mary’s head, breathing in the smell of her freshly washed hair as his tears dripped onto it. He had to make this work. For Mary as much as for himself.
Lady Harriet’s Unusual Reward can be bought here http://www.amazon.com/Lady-Harriets-Unusual-Reward-Taylor-ebook/dp/B00TXZYCK2
Thank you Ella
His ship in splinters and his men captured, Stephen is a broken man. Yet the torture he received by his enemies is nothing compared to the torment he bears from an angel with lavender eyes.
Enjoy an excerpt of “The True One”
“Love!” He leaped from the couch as if his pants were on fire. “Who said anything about love? I certainly never mentioned the word.”
She jumped up right behind him. “You don’t need to mention it. It’s clearly written all over your face. Your eyes are filled with longing. Even your speech changes. My ruff and gruff brother turns to mush at the mention of her name.”
He gave her a look that had many men scurrying away in fright. But not his hot-headed sister.
“Where the devil do you get these ideas? I do not . . .”
“Yes you do. You are in love.”
“Will you please keep your voice down?” Imagine him, the shouter, asking her to lower her voice. “I’ll not have you spouting nonsense the entire household may misconstrue. Maybe a life with her crossed my mind. But, that’s all. And, like I said, it’s impossible.”
“Nothing is impossible. I thought I’d never have Morgan, and look at us.” The palm of her hand heated his arm. “I love him. I would do anything for him. We had obstacles between us. But, we overcame them.”
“You natter in a land of impossible things. I am not nobility.”
“You are a man of considerable wealth. You are a baron in your own right, your own lands. Father saw to that. You are a man of impeccable character.”
“You give a man hope.”
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From Royal Regard:
Having been ushered into Malbourne’s study and made to wait two hours without refreshment, the obsequious woman rose from the Bergère chair upon his entry into the room, curtseying deeply. Taking a seat at the gilded Riesener desk, he ran his eyes up and down his visitor, but did not invite her to sit.
Her cheap, grimy, green cotton dress had no place in this elegant room, nor did the smell of weeks traveling by public coach and steerage. The aroma nearly made his eyes water, but he would never rise to open another window. It would only serve to emphasize how few servants he could now afford. The sound of the waves crashing against his Dover cliffs flowed in through the open casement, not quite obscuring his profound irritation.
“It has been more than thirty years. I had hoped never to see you again.”
“And still you look as handsome as I remember.”
“Spare me the toadying. State your business.”
The woman bowed her head, staring at the wall to her left. Her thinning red hair was matted and disheveled, falling from pins where it wasn’t sticking out in tufts, above a sharp face set with deep lines, dark eyes flashing with fear—and something else familiar he was loath to define.
“Forgive me, Monsieur le Duc. I do not mean to disturb.”
***
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Love the posts today, Ella! Here is one from The Highlander’s Reluctant Bride. This wee secondary character got her own story in the next book, The Highlander’s Tempestuous Bride.
Gilda scooted around in Riona’s lap to view the two closed baskets and sent a hopeful look toward her. “For me?”
Riona playfully pinched Gilda’s plump arm. “Yes, my sonsie lass. Plenty of goodies for ye and yer auntie, as well as a new pair of slippers for yer bare wee feet.” Riona leaned forward and pressed her face against the little girl’s soft cheek. “I heard ye lost yer other pair in the water.”
Gilda’s smile disappeared and she tried to make herself very small on Riona’s lap.
“What were ye doin’ out in the water, mo chroi?”
Gilda cut her gaze to Tavia, who merely raised an eyebrow in mild reprimand. The lass dropped her head, staring at her fingers, fidgeting in her lap. With a sigh, she squared her shoulders and glanced up. Riona’s heart clutched at her daughter’s soulful gaze.
“I was lookin’ fer angel shells.”
“And did ye find any?”
Gilda bobbed her head vigorously, her red-gold curls dancing about her shoulders. “Five,” she announced, holding up her hand, fingers spread for emphasis. Her face fell. “But they all washed awa’.”
Riona huffed, trying hard to keep a stern countenance. “Ye know ye are no’ to go out to the water without me or Auntie Tavia, don’t ye, mo chroi?”
Gilda’s lower lip trembled and she gave a slow nod.
“Not for all the angel shells in the ocean would I risk losing ye, Gilda,” Riona scolded her gently. “Ye are nae big enough to go out there alone.”
“But, Ma . . .”
Riona held up a hand against her protest. “Nae excuses. Ye willnae be allowed down here if ye cannae obey me in this.”
Gilda’s face puckered. Riona could tell there was more she wanted to say. She gestured warningly, reminding the lass she was already in enough trouble without adding to the list of grievances. Gilda crossed her arms, frowning with four-year-old annoyance.
“Has she finished her punishment?” Riona turned to Tavia.
The old woman nodded. “Aye. She’s cleaned out Bridie’s pen and swept the floor. If she minds her tongue, she can help unpack these baskets.”
The nanny bleated from her stall on the far side of the room. Gilda shot the goat a look of disgust mixed with apprehension and Riona swallowed a laugh to remember Bridie’s less-than-pleasant welcome when she’d brought Gilda to stay with Tavia shortly after the laird’s accident.
“I think that will do for now. Gilda, would ye help yer auntie with these?”
Gilda slid from Riona’s lap, landing on her knees beside the baskets. Her hands flew to the clasp, short fingers fumbling with the fastener, disdaining help from either woman. A moment later she threw the lid wide and gasped in pleased surprise to see the assorted pastries nestled within.
Riona sighed. “I’d hoped ye would open the one with the meat pies and fish first.” She eyed Gilda sternly. “Ye may have one pastry, lass. Only one. Then awa’ with ye until dinner time.”
Gilda grabbed the edge of the basket and tilted it toward her, staring intently at the alluring contents. Finally, she pulled out a crisp tart, breathing deeply as the aroma of cinnamon and apples wafted out.
Riona flapped a hand at her. “Ask Fergus to take ye along the beach to look for shells.”
Nodding happily, Gilda skipped to the door, munching on the pastry as juices dripped down her chin.
“And take this!” Riona admonished, tossing a piece of linen at her to wipe her face and hands. It landed on Gilda’s head and she giggled as she ducked out the door.
Thanks for the fun opportunity! I look forward to reading more posts. ~Cathy