It’s time for Monday Excerpts! Let’s do the first instance in your hero’s point of view. Don’t forget to post your buy links.
Here is mine from Miss Featherton’s Christmas Prince!
Damon Hawksworth lounged against a convenient pillar in Lady Cowper’s crowded ballroom. A glass of wine dangled from his fingers. Directly across from him, another brittle smile appeared on Miss Margaret Featherton’s normally happy countenance. Her latest suitor, the Earl of Tarlington, was nowhere to be seen and had not been for the past two days or so. Rumor had it that he had gone to the Continent. The only question Damon had was whether she had given the man his congé or if it had been the other way around. He rather thought something had occurred to cause her to break it off with Tarlington. His godmother would know. If anyone knew the inner workings of the ton, it was Almeria Bellamny.
Ever since Rupert, Earl of Stanstead’s wedding, when Damon’s she had introduced him to Miss Featherton, he had developed a fascination for the lady. Her intelligence was sharp, and several times he had seen her hold back a witty retort. Her beauty was not at all in the usual mode. Her mouth was too wide for the current fashion, yet it complimented her high cheekbones and finely arched black brows. Her thick, dark chestnut hair almost begged him to run his fingers through her tresses as they tumbled down. Yet for some reason, the feature he was most fond of was her completely straight nose with a rounded tip. More importantly, she was poised beyond her years. He doubted she had ever been a missish young lady. Even when they had argued over an interpretation of poetry, she had always appeared in complete control and secure in her knowledge.
Now, her polite smile belied the look of despair in her blue eyes. It was as if she was slightly adrift and was only going through the motions until she could retire to the country. Well, with Tarlington gone, Damon wasn’t fool enough to wait until some other gentleman snatched her up. He would gladly rescue her and help her on the path he wished for them. Dancing was a start. She would have held the best sets for Tarlington, and now they would be Damon’s.
Pushing himself off the pillar, he handed his glass to a passing footman and crossed the room.
“Miss Featherton?” He bowed. “Would you by chance have a free dance?”
Her beautiful eyes, the color a mountain lake, were shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept much recently. “You may have the supper dance, my lord.”
“I am honored.” He bowed again before taking his leave.
This was worse than he’d thought. Whatever had happened between Tarlington and Miss Featherton, she was not unaffected, and that was an unwanted dilemma. Damon would have to see how the set went before he formulated his strategy for winning her.
Buy links:
Amazon http://amzn.to/1FbRDE1
Apple http://apple.co/1LFhzg2
Google http://bit.ly/1EsPLvs
Now it’s your turn to show them what you’ve got!!
ellaquinnauthor
Ella Quinn ~ Author 
Thanks, Ella! Here’s mine from To Kiss a Rake:
“This isn’t Lavinia Darwin!”
“What the devil?” Miles left the horses to Jem and hurried back to the coach.
Fellowes stood by the open door, holding the lantern high. The girl Miles had bundled into the coach lay sprawled on a pile of rugs on the floor, her cloak askew, her mask crushed beneath her, and a tumble of copper curls partly obscuring her face. His heart gave a horrified lurch; he thrust Fellowes out of the way and climbed inside, bending down to feel for a pulse at her throat.
Thank God. At least she was alive, but what had happened to her? She’d been in fine fettle when he’d tossed her into the coach. He scooped her off the floor and sat on the seat, cradling her in his arms, so limp and light and soft, reminding him unpleasantly of a dead bird. He held her close to his chest, chafing her arm with his free hand. “Give me that blanket,” he said, motioning to the seat opposite.
Fellowes picked up the blanket, but something came with it, dropping to the floor with a thud.
Ah. A metal bracket meant to hold a lamp. Perhaps she’d tried to open the door but fallen when he’d set the coach in motion, and the bracket, loose from rust and age, had landed on her head and knocked her out. He took the blanket, shook it out, and flung it over the girl. “Who is she, then?”
Fellowes picked up the lantern again, frowning. “She’s Lavinia’s bosom friend Melinda. She acted as go-between so no one would suspect anything was going on. Quite pretty, but a bossy sort of female.”
Judging by his experience with her so far, Miles had no problem believing that, but ‘quite pretty’ was doing her an injustice.
“How did you manage to bring the wrong girl?” Fellowes said. “I told you Lavinia was a blonde. Look at the girl’s hair. It’s orange as a carrot!”
A flame, Miles would have said, or a lethally beautiful flower, but this was not the time to argue about similes. “It was dark, and the hood covered her hair. She crept into the mews dressed as Artemis, goddess of the hunt, so what else was I to assume?”
“She’s not Artemis—she’s Athena,” Fellowes said. “Look at the thunderbolt stitched to her gown. Artemis carried a quiver and arrows.”
“I thought Eros wielded the bow and arrows,” Miles said. The girl sighed, and her head lolled against his arm, baring a sleek, kissable throat. To his shame, the soft weight of her bum on his lap was getting him aroused. He must have gone without a woman far too long if he was responding to an unconscious girl.
“He did, you dolt,” Fellowes said. “But the female goddess of love is Aphrodite.”
For whom this imperious, copper-haired sprite could easily pass.
http://www.amazon.com/Kiss-Rake-Scandalous-Kisses-ebook/dp/B00ZAY07OK/
Thanks for posting, Barbara!! I loved it!
Thanks so much, Ella, for the opportunity. Here’s an excerpt from “Secret Harbor”
Jean Blanchard raised a spyglass to his eye and squinted at a creature swimming out from the headland. A dolphin? No, couldn’t be. Not the right shape. Wait. The animal rolled a bit, and the unmistakable curve of a breast broke above the surface. His breath hitched for a moment.
Why would a woman swim that far from shore?
He reluctantly shifted his line of sight to a crowd of workers gathered in front of the main house on the island. Jean lowered the glass for a moment to rub absently at the stubble of beard on his jaw. Mon Dieu, but the hair on his face grew quickly. Was it only the night before he had taken a razor to the stubborn growth?
When he raised the glass again, the number of workers had increased to surround the light pink, two-story house. All of the white shutters swung open to the morning breeze, with the sun glinting off the red-tiled roof. The well-kept planter’s home sat atop a bluff overhanging the ocean below. He couldn’t resist swinging the spyglass back toward the headland where the mysterious woman had appeared. No sign of her now.
Jean gently turned the wheel with one hand to maneuver his ship into a shallow cove on the leeward side of the island. He wove his way in through a narrow cut in the reef by eyeing the hand signals of one of his men. The smuggler lay flat on the bow and pointed toward the depths revealed in the morning sun. Jean gave the order to strike the mainsail and let the ship’s momentum head them into the wind.
“This will do. Throw out the lead line and wait for five fathoms before you drop anchor,” he said. A quick and easy run. How hard could it be to overwhelm a few plantation workers and take the island’s old healer? He ignored the lump of guilt lodged in the middle of his chest. His men were dying. He had no choice.
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1PffV7R
Thanks for the opportunity, Ella!
This is from Only Marriage Will Do, on sale for just .99!
London
July 2, 1761
The brass lion-head knocker under Amiable Dawson’s hand sent a sharp rap through the dark walnut door of Dunham House for the second time. The hot July sun hadn’t done his temper any good as he waited on the marble stoop for entrance to the Marquess of Dalbury’s townhouse. He’d been in a foul mood ever since the news of his beloved Katarina’s marriage to the marquess had reached him. Blast it to hell, the girl had accepted his proposal. At least he could make sure she was well and well taken care of by this man she had married.
At last a short, dark-haired maid opened the door. She took one look at him, gasped, and stepped back into the house. Her eyes widened and she glanced to her right, wringing her hands.
“Who may I say—”
A man shouted from within. “No, I do not believe you.”
“I do not care what you believe. I told you the truth.” A woman’s voice, raised and sharp with terror, sent a chill through Amiable.
Katarina. What in God’s name?
He barged past the stunned girl and strode down the hall toward the commotion. He burst through the doorway, expecting to defend the woman he loved, only to stop dead at the sight of a man lunging across a sofa and grasping a woman by the wrist. Amiable had half drawn his sword before he realized the woman was not Katarina, but a complete stranger. He dropped it back into its scabbard. None of his affair after all.
The young man, foppishly dressed in a robin’s egg blue satin coat dripping too many layers of frothy lace at throat and wrists, looked at Amiable, a snarl on his lips.
Taking advantage of the distraction, the woman wrenched her arm from the man’s grip. “Praise God. He has arrived at last.” She staggered as she righted herself. “Now you will have to believe me, Philippe.”
The fop scrambled back off the sofa and groped for a black lacquer walking stick that lay on the floor. Lips pressed together, he glowered at the woman. “That remains to be seen, ma chère.
In any case, I have shown you the papers. They speak for themselves.”
The woman ran from behind the sofa to Amiable’s side, grazed a kiss over his cheek, and whispered, “For God’s sake, help me. I am alone and he wants to force me to go with him. Please, agree with whatever I say.”
He smiled into her pleading face, then grasped her hands and gave them a gentle squeeze to signal his acquiescence. “Whatever is the matter, my dear?” Hell if he knew. However, he could play his part, even with little information. Let the lady lead and he’d follow as well as he could.
The woman swayed toward him, then took a deep breath. “My dear, may I present Viscount St. Cyr?” She nodded toward the fop. “Philippe, my husband, the Earl of Manning.”
Only Marriage Will Do is available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/B00ONTR82M/spea06-20
Thanks Ella, this is from At the Earl’s Convenience.
Giles Devereux, Earl of Halcrow, searched the milling guests in the ballroom. The quadrille band struck up, and partners formed sets. The chandeliers shone down on the swaying gowns and waving feathers, adding luster to the fine jewels on display. As Giles skirted the floor, several acquaintances cut him, turning their backs. Word had spread that he’d resigned his commission while England was at war. He’d anticipated it and shrugged, determined not to let it bother him.
He found the person he sought. It was fortuitous that she wasn’t yet dancing. The lady sat alone, nibbling her full bottom lip as she fussed with her glove. He paused and allowed his gaze to sweep over her, noting the indifferent manner in which her beautiful hair was dressed and the gown successfully camouflaging her bosom and doing little to flatter her tall, slim figure. Selina Wakefield was outspoken and a little too serious, but not without a sense of humor. He found her a delightful puzzle. She was not a member of the aristocracy, although her wealth entitled her to move amongst them, and while her behavior could never be accused of being outlandish, she refused to adopt their affectations. He admired her and wished he didn’t like her so much. Far better that he didn’t love the woman he planned to wed, better for her, too, if she didn’t love him.
At .99c, The Earl’s Convenience is a Amazon Regency No. 1 bestseller Amazon buy link: http://www.amazon.com/At-Earls-Convenience-MAGGI-ANDERSEN-ebook/dp/B012TA2AGA/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8
Beautifully written, Ella. Mathair and I love the strategic way he approaches her; almost like mental warfare. It’s intellectual romances like theirs that really intrigue us and definitely sets the characters apart from the norm of regency romances. Hope you have a great week.
Thank you so much, Inion!! That means a lot to me! He really does approach her like a battle.