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Courtship on WIP Wednesday

Those who write romances also write courtships. Before the happy ending, some sort of wooing has to happen, short or long, impassioned or almost accidental. Courtship between other characters or in other genres of story may have tragic endings or trickle out into nothing, but even so, we often see them. The pressure of a courtship is a gift to the writer, allowing us to show and develop character.

This week, I’m inviting writers to post an excerpt in the comments from a courtship in their current work in progress. Mine is from my short story written for the newsletter that will go out this week. My couple married when she was still a child, separated immediately after the wedding, and haven’t seen one another for years.

When he made his way to the church, he wore the gloves she had sent him last Christmas, the muffler she had knitted for the Christmas before. His pocket bore two of the handkerchiefs she’d embroidered with his new crest; beneath the muffler, a tie pin she’d given him fastened his cravat. He was one of the early arrivals. The manger, the seat for the Virgin Mother, and a couple of rails on posts stood lonely in the transom, waiting for the players. Word of who he was must have spread, however, for friendly villagers escorted him to a chair near the front of the nave, and a dozen people made the opportunity to stop by and tell him he had a wonderful wife.

The sheep came first, herded into place by the shepherd and his helpers. Then someone led out the cows and tethered them to one of the rails. A crowd of angels processed solemnly through the nave, hands in prayer position, heads bowed, eyes dancing. Finally, the moment Hal had been waiting for, Dolly led a donkey up the aisle, and Hal’s heart stopped at the sight of the woman on its back.

Dolly had been right. She was stunning. She was looking down, so he could see little of her face beyond a white forehead and dark brows and lashes. The blue shawl he’d chosen for her in Kowton was fixed to her head by a wreath of flowers, crafted in silver, that he’d found in Baghdad. The shawl flowed over her shoulders and down her sides, but it was so light it clung to a form that dried his mouth and brought his baser self to painful attention. He’d married before sowing any wild oats, and then kept his wedding vows, waiting to return home to Willa. The part of him he’d thought under perfect control wanted to wait not another minute longer.

Hal shut his eyes, and gritted his teeth, and once he knew he would not run roaring up the aisle to carry Willa off, he opened them again.

She had taken her seat in the transom, and was staring straight at him.

***

This was going to be a disaster. When she’d received Hal’s message, she had very nearly panicked. Only Eliza’s good sense kept her from taking a horse and riding away into the night. Instead, she had donned the veil that was part of her costume for the tableau, fastening it in place with a silver circlet he had sent her and putting on the matching necklace and earrings. Not, perhaps, appropriate for a carpenter’s wife, but the marquis’s wife wanted him to know she treasured his gifts.

She’d known who he was immediately, though he was at least six inches taller and considerably broader. The eyes hadn’t changed, though. Besides, he’d said he’d be there, and no one else was a stranger. He’d stared straight at her, then shut his eyes, his jaw stiffening, a grimace passing over his face. He hated her on sight. She wanted to run, but she wouldn’t spoil the tableau. She dismounted, as they’d rehearsed, and collected little Michael from Clara, and then took her seat before looking again at Hal.

He opened his eyes and her gaze was caught. Everyone else disappeared from her consciousness. Only Hal existed. Willa was inexperienced but not stupid. That was heat in his eyes. He desired her, and his desire sparked her own. She shifted uncomfortably, uncertain whether she liked the feeling Hal had set alight. The baby sucked in a deep breath and let it out again, and she looked down, feeling both relieved and bereft to be released from Hal’s thrall. She refused to look at him again until the tableau was over, though she could feel that the weight of his gaze never left her.

 

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The magic of the ring — reunion. Follow Your Star Home blog hop on Sunday Sportlight

Holiday greetings, from me and the Bluestocking Belles, and welcome to our Follow Your Star Home blog hop. Read on for my story about the travels of the magic ring, and comment for an entry in our holiday prize. Then go to our blog hop page for links to the other Belles’ stories and for more information about the prize and the special price on all three holiday box sets for this week and next. The hop is running for the fortnight, so keep checking back to see if a new story has been posted.

The Reunion

Father was negotiating their passage in a caravan across Persia to the borders of the Turkish Levant. From there, they’d find ship to Constantinople, where Father planned to follow up the latest rumour.

For seventeen years, since he lost his wife shortly after Rus’s birth, he’d refused to believe she was really dead. But for seventeen years, every lead had evaporated, every story had proven false.

Not that Father spent all his time looking for his lost love. He’d also been the best father a man could be, and all the time he was making his fortune in the lands of the East.

Father was good at bargaining; much better than anyone Rus knew. In India, in Afghanistan, in Serendip, and now in this small port town on the Gulf of Persia, Father had the patience, the good manners, and the sheer intelligence to play the game of business with the locals, each action, every word, a step in a complex dance that left both parties satisfied and eager to do business again.

Father enjoyed the hours it took, but Rus was only seventeen, and the port was full of life and colour. He burned to capture the new sights on paper.

“Don’t go far,” Father said, when he begged leave to sketch. “Stay where I can see you from the verandah. And Rusty, wear your hat.”

He did better. He found a place under an awning that protected the fair skin he’d inherited from his father — skin that went with the hair that had won him his nickname. Even his hands would burn, though they were more weathered than his face. But when he began drawing he forgot time, ignored discomfort, saw nothing but whatever he was trying to reproduce in his sketch pad.

The Arabic dhows at anchor in the small harbour. The square shapes of the buildings. A sailor who took a coin to pose for a moment. Three camels in solemn procession, their noses as lofty as dowagers. He turned page after page, making brief notes in the margins about the colours he would apply when he had time to create a painting from the impressions he was absorbing.

A woman in western dress caught his eye, walking past in the direction of the small British naval garrison. Perhaps she was wed one of the British officers.

With a few brief strokes he captured the flow of her skirts, the bonnet that shaded and hid her face, the large man in desert robes that strode in her wake. A bodyguard, Rus guessed, since he stepped between her and a street pedlar with a basket of fresh dates.

The lady waved her bodyguard aside, and exchanged a few words with the pedlar. Rus was too far away to hear more than one or two words, but he saw her pass over a coin and receive a handful of dates in a little basket woven from palm fronds.

Rus turned the page and began another sketch on a fresh piece of paper. The lady stripped off one glove, and as she did he saw something flash as it flew from her hand. She didn’t notice, picking a date from the basket and moving off towards the harbour as she ate it.

Rus put his pencil and sketchbook down and hurried after her, searching the ground for whatever had fallen. There it was: a ring. He caught it up and examined it briefly. It was chunky and heavy; a seal ring perhaps, with a star engraved on the face. It was not what he’d expect a fashionable lady to wear.

While he’d been pondering it, she’d strolled further away, and he cast a glance back at the house where his father sat. Rus had better hurry to catch her before she moved out of sight of the verandah and forced him to break his promise.

“Ma’am,” he called as he ran after her. “English lady!”

She turned slightly towards him and he could see her face. She was older than he’d expected from her graceful carriage and light steps. Not really old. The age of his father or a little younger.

Rus ignored the bodyguard, and held out the ring. “You dropped this, ma’am.”

She took it in her hand, without taking her eyes off his face; haunted eyes in a face suddenly blanched of colour. “Who are you?” Her voice shook.

Rus whipped off his hat and bowed. “Cecil McInnes, at your service, ma’am.”

He straightened just in time to catch her as she crumpled.

The bodyguard roared, and Rus thought he was done for, but then Father arrived, and the merchant he had been negotiating with. Rus was dimly aware of the merchant calming the bodyguard as Father ignored everything around him, even Rus’s attempt to explain what had happened, and took the lady’s face between reverent hands. She was stirring awake even as Father smiled, tears pouring down his cheeks the while.

“Cecily? Cecily, at last!”

Cecily? Rus’s mother? As she took her weight on her feet again, straightening, she didn’t take her eyes of Father.

“Alec? But you’re dead. They told me you had died! Alec!”

She threw herself into Father’s arms, her own tears running disregarded as she and Father babbled their wonder at finding one another again, and then Father scooped Rus into their embrace.

“Come,” Father’s friend the merchant said once they’d calmed a little. “You shall favour me by accepting my hospitality while you speak of all that has happened since last you were together. You have entertained every dog and donkey enough, yes?”

Rus blushed as he realised that the entire street was standing still to watch the crazy Englanders in their emotional reunion, but his father and mother (his Mother!) had eyes only for one another. Still, they allowed themselves to be herded inside.

It was only later that Rus realised that he and Mother had dropped the ring again, and by then it was nowhere to be found.

Cecily McInnes is the other woman in my contribution to the box set, Paradise Regained.

Divided sweethearts seek love and forgiveness in this collection of seasonal novellas.

Forged for lovers, the Viking star ring is said to bring lovers together, no matter how far, no matter how hard.

In eight stories covering more than a thousand years, our heroes and heroines put this legend to the test. Watch the star work its magic as prodigals return home in the season of goodwill, uncertain of their welcome.

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Sunday Spotlight on A Duke in Wulf’s Clothing

The Earldom of Rothgard has a long and storied history of strength, wealth, and integrity. But the death of the current matriarch hits everyone hard – most especially the Earl – and he tumbles into a mourning so intense his life becomes lost in a shroud of grief. His eldest daughter, Lady Isobel, steps up to lead the family so her brother can continue at university while her younger sisters experience a childhood of some normalcy.

Finding weaknesses in all Lady Isobel does to protect her family, an unseen enemy seizes an opportunity to launch financial and personal attacks. When treading water in the mess yields not success but rather an overwhelming sense of imminent drowning, she is forced to seek aid from her father’s well-connected friends—the fate of her family depends upon it.

Help arrives in the form of an arrogant, handsome gentleman seemingly suited more for the ballroom than the battlefield. The Duke of Conall, the ‘Wulf of the North,’ is an enigma in bespoke boots and tailored jackets. Yet behind the facade of cultivated ennui and charm beats the heart of a warrior—one who quickly recognizes the enemy tormenting the Rothgard family.

The Duke comes prepared to fight…but did he also come prepared for love?

A Duke in Wulf’s Clothing is inspired by the legend of Beowulf, an Old English epic set in Scandinavia, where the hero, Beowulf, comes to the aid of a king and kingdom under attack by a ferocious monster. It is Book Six in the A Legend To Love Series, a group of eleven full-length Regency romance novels written by eleven different authors, where at least one of the main characters in each book is inspired by a legend.

(EXCERPT)

The entrance of Rothgard Hall, Derbyshire, April 1812

“Turn around, remount your horse, and I shall not shoot you today . . . Sir.”

The pause before the ‘sir’ was deliberate, just short enough to seem polite, but long enough to broadcast the insult. He would have chuckled had he not sensed the sincerity behind the words. His eyes scanned the entrance to the imposing estate, but the clear day and size of the area caused the voice to seemingly come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. He must have hesitated too long himself as further instructions rang out.

“I had not planned to practice sighting my guns today, but as you are obligingly ignoring my directives, I will take advantage of the opportunity. I should warn you that I am a crack shot and your immobility all but guarantees my aim shall fall true. I have only to decide which part of you needs a ball in it most.”

The owner of the voice remained unseen, but the ominous cocking of a pistol drew his attention to the massive planter on the right side of the landing between the flights of stairs. No shrinking violet, this one, he thought. She had not been hiding, merely tactically placing herself near cover should it be necessary. The lady stood taller than most, had striking dark hair and eyes, and wore a topaz morning dress not in the first stare of fashion, but of high-quality material and extremely well-made. Her found himself taking notice of her skirts and the wisps of hair about her face, gently rippling in the light breeze. She raised one pistol, aiming it dead center at his chest, and returned his attention to where it belonged.

Clearing his throat, the action as foreign to him as the sudden attraction he felt toward this stranger threatening his life, he began his mea culpa.

“My Lady, I believe I should introduce myself before we have cause to regret your actions.” Despite not knowing her identity, he still sensed he spoke to someone of import.

“Save your speech to occupy your thoughts on your journey back down my lane. The only introduction you need concern yourself with is this ball greeting your torso.” An impish smile spread across her face as she raised one brow as if in a cocky salute. “And I assure you, I shall feel no regrets in the matter.”

And with those saucy words and braggadocio, the famously aloof and impassive Duke of Conall thought he might be in love.

Meet Renée Reynolds

Author Renée Reynolds grew up all over the world in a family whose motto is you can never learn too much, travel too much, or talk too much.  She owns an impressive stack of degrees that she ignores to instead write about what she cannot do: go back in time to dance at balls and flirt with lords and scoundrels.

Renée found her happily ever after in Texas, where she resides with her family and a menagerie of pets. They’ve added to the family motto: you can never read too much, too often, or too late at night.

WEBSITE – https://obstinateheadstronggirl.wordpress.com/

FACEBOOK – https://www.facebook.com/reneereynoldsauthor

AMAZON – http://amazon.com/author/reneereynolds

TWITTER – https://twitter.com/eenayray

BOOKBUB – https://www.bookbub.com/authors/renee-reynolds

INSTAGRAM – https://www.instagram.com/eenayray/

PINTEREST – https://www.pinterest.com/eenayray/

A LEGEND TO LOVE SERIES

Legends love again in each Regency romance novel.

A Legend To Love is a series of full-length Regency romance novels written by eleven different authors, where at least one of the main characters in each book is inspired by a legend. You’ll meet our very own versions of Robin Hood, Mulan, Cuchulainn and Emer, Vlad Dracula, Odysseus and Penelope, Romulus and Remus, the Lady of the Lake, Beowulf, Tristan and Iseault, Pygmalion and Galatea, and Dick Whittington and his cat. Each novel contains an Author’s Note, too, that talks a bit about each legend and why the author chose it.

Facebook Page – A Legend to Love Series

Website – A Legend to Love

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Courtship on WIP Wednesday

If it’s a romance, or has a love story in it, it has courting. Before, after, or instead of the marriage, but somewhere. This week, how about an excerpt with a courting scene? Mine is from The Beast Next Door, my next novella. Charis and Eric have been meeting in secret; Charis because she thinks her mother won’t approve and Eric because he worries that Charis will reject him when she knows his secret. Charis has come to tell him she is going away, and he has been rubbing her cold hands to warm them.

Was embarrassment the source of the burning warmth that flooded her? No one ever touched her so firmly, so intimately. No one ever touched her, except her maid as required to unlace her stays or put up her hair, or perhaps her sisters when excitement caused them to forget decorum. How often she had wished that ladies could exchange the fond touches she’d observed in lesser families. A hug. A kiss to the cheek. Clasped hands.

Eric lifted her hand to his lips then placed it in her lap. “Better. Now for the other.” His voice was strained, as if he spoke through a stiff throat. Did he dislike touching her?

“Truly, I am fine,” she assured him. “You do not need to bother.”

“Bother?” He took the little glass from her hand and began removing the other glove. “This is not a bother.” He glanced up from the hand he was now massaging, a smile lurking at the corner of his lips. “I have been dreaming of touching you, Charis, and am grateful for an excuse.”

Something intent and hot in his eyes speared into Charis. She could not account for the way the warmth moved lower, to parts that a lady never mentioned and touched as little as possible, even when washing, but of a sudden the air seemed to disappear from the room. She inhaled sharply, and let the breath out on a sigh, casting about for something to say to loosen the strange tension. He had dreamed of touching her? How could she think when those words echoed in the chaotic scramble his caress had made of her brain?

Ah yes. Bath. “Mama has been given the loan of a house in Bath. We leave today, Eric, and I do not know how long we shall stay.” She had meant her voice to be brisk and matter-of-fact, but the last words came out on a wail, and all of a sudden she was enfolded in Eric’s arms.

“Dearest Charis.” He was rubbing her back with his hands, kissing the top of her head. For a moment she froze, then — almost without her volition — she wrapped her own arms around him and held on tight, pressing herself against his warmth.

“The others have been over the moon ever since Mama told us. We will miss nothing, they say. Every morning engagement. Staying late at all the assemblies. No more days off because of the rain.” The tragedy that suffused her voice was ridiculous. She was an unnatural female to so hate the activities the others so enjoyed, and it would only be until the end of the season.

Eric shifted, moving his lower torso so she was against his hip, but he didn’t put her away from him which gave her the courage to say, “No more visits with you.” To her horror, her voice warbled on the last word and she burst into tears.

“Ah Charis.” The rub changed to a soothing pat as she fought to contain herself. ‘Excessive displays of emotion are ill bred,’ Miss Middleton insisted, ‘and displeasing to men’, though Eric did not sound annoyed as he murmured, “Darling Charis. We will only be separated for a short time, and when I come back I shall have the right…” He trailed off.

She drew back the better to see his face. “The right?”

 

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Tea with Claudia

 

The room was beyond belief. Claudia had seen pictures of parlours and drawing rooms in stately homes in England, and this surely qualified. The drapes. The furniture. The paintings on the wall. The ornaments and vases. Presumably her subconscious mind had collected various details she had never been consciously aware of and put them together in this dream.

“My mother will be with you shortly, Miss Westerson,” said the tall gorgeous man who had found her wandering in the sumptuous halls and escorted her to this room. He made her feel even more out of place than the room, all plummy vowels and elegantly tailored clothes from an era long gone. His pants hugged his legs tighter than any jeans, and his coat and waistcoat were cut away to show that they were moulded to his — his hips. Lace foamed at his wrists, and his neck was encased in a snowy cravat from the folds of which winked a sapphire that matched his eyes.

Even the maid he had been talking to was better dressed than Claudia. More appropriately, anyway, in an ankle-length frock of blue gingham with apron and cap in crisp white. Claudia’s shorts and tee-shirt were perfectly modest wear for shopping and visiting in her everyday life, but here they were just shy of the dream she used to have when she was competing, where she’d finish a perfect floor exercise and turn to the judges to find them all staring in horror because she was stark naked.

At least the man — Aldridge, he called himself, though whether that was a surname or a first name, she had no idea — at least he wasn’t staring in horror. After one long glance at her legs, more appreciative than insulting, he had looked only at her face. Still, her discomfort must have shown, for he smiled reassuringly as he said, “Do not be concerned, Miss Westerson. Her Grace has visitors from many different places and times, and the household is accustomed.”

“Her Grace?” That was a duchess, wasn’t it? Claudia wasn’t much for historical novels, but she was pretty sure that dukes and duchesses were the only English nobility referred to as graces.

“I am the Duchess of Haverford,” said the woman who entered at that moment. “And you must be Miss Claudia Westerson. I am so pleased to meet you, my dear. I trust my son has made you comfortable?”

Claudia is the heroine of Abbie’s Wish, my novella in Christmas Wishes on Main Street.

Three men. One’s a monster. Can Claudia figure out who before it’s too late?

After too many horrifying experiences, Claudia Westerson has given up on men. She’s done everything possible to exorcise the men in her life, short of changing her name and appearance. They’re unpredictable, controlling and, worst of all, dangerous. Besides, all her energies are devoted to therapy for her daughter, Abbie, who is recovering from a brain injury.

But after Abbie is photographed making a wish for Christmas, Claudia begins receiving anonymous threats, proving her quiet refuge is not nearly hidden enough.

Who can she trust? Three men hope to make her theirs:

  • Jack, the driver from her daughter’s accident
  • Ethan, her daughter’s biological father
  • Rhys, a local school teacher and widower.

They all sound sincere, but which one isn’t?

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Spotlight on Follow Your Star Home and Paradise Regained

 

Released today.

Denmark 839

A Yule Love Story  by Nicole Zoltack

Life and love are never simple when a banished king must turn to a simple healing woman to survive

Kopet Dag Mountains, 1794

Paradise Regained by Jude Knight

In discovering the mysteries of the East, James has built a new life. Will unveiling the secrets in his wife’s heart destroy it?

Scotland, 1807

Somewhere Like Home by Lizzi Tremayne

Highlands to Waterloo—can love prevail over fate?

England, 1814

The Umbrella Chronicles: James and Annie’s Story by Amy Quinton

Prodigal duke seeks professional matchmaker for matrimonial assistance. Prefers foolproof plans in 10 parts. Magical solutions accepted. Missteps likely.

Scotland, 1869

A Wish for All Seasons:A MacKai Family Novella by Rue Allyn

The past keeps Caibre and Aisla apart. Only Love and forgiveness can give them a future.

Wales and France, 1919

The Last Post  by Caroline Warfield

The Great War is over, but how can they marry if he can’t find her?

San Francisco 1922

A Fine Chance  by Elizabeth Ellen Carter

All he needs is a fine chance.

Scotland, 1170 & USA Present Day

One Last Kiss: The Knights of Berwyck, A Quest Through Time Novella by  Sherry Ewing

Sometimes it takes a miracle to find your heart’s desire…

*Buy Links

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07H4ZY517

Barnes & Noble: https://bit.ly/2y0SJbd

iBooks: https://apple.co/2ObkLLj

Kobo:  https://www.kobo.com/nz/en/ebook/follow-your-star-home

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/894110

 

Amazon AU: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon BR: https://www.amazon.com.br/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon DE: https://www.amazon.de/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon ES: https://www.amazon.es/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon FR: https://www.amazon.fr/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon IN: https://www.amazon.in/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon IT: https://www.amazon.it/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon JP: https://www.amazon.co.jp/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon MX: https://www.amazon.com.mx/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon NL: https://www.amazon.nl/dp/B07H4ZY517

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07H4ZY517

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Spotlight on a SNAFU

Ouch. If you want me, I’m in my table cave sucking my thumb. I’m not adulting today.

If you pre-ordered House of Thorns or bought it on release day, you may have opened it to find somebody else’s book in my cover. Amazon sent out the wrong file. They seem to have fixed it; I bought a copy myself yesterday to check, and got the right book. But if you have the wrong one, please do one of the following:

  • send it back to Amazon for a refund and buy it again
  • email Scarsdale Publishing for a new copy (scarsdale@scarsdalepublishing.com).

That kind of took the shine off release day. And the two one-star reviews on Amazon UK from people who didn’t like not getting my book made me want to cry.

Ah well. It’ll all come out in the wash, as my mother used to say. To cheer us all up, here’s the video trailer I made for release day.

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Secrets on WIP Wednesday

Secrets are the engine of the story. Maybe the characters know what is going on, but the readers don’t. Or the readers know, but the characters don’t (don’t get in the carriage, Mary!). Or only the author knows and everyone else has to read on to find out.

This week, I’m finishing a subscriber short story which will go out in my newsletter in a couple of days. The reader who won the right to chose the ingredients for the story picked a heroine who has a well-founded fear of men, a castle, and an enemies to lovers plot line. With ingredients like that, of course my hero and my heroine were both keeping secrets. I’ll give you an excerpt where their secrets put them at cross purposes.

Please share your excerpts. The secret might be anything, big or small. Let’s play. (Oh, and if you’re not a newsletter subscriber and would like to receive five or six newsletters a year with a short story and some news about me, my books, and my friends’ books, the subscription button is in the right menu.)

Anne had followed them out, her fine eyes flashing scorn as she watched her cousin leave. No wonder Cleghorn wanted her. Edward was fighting his own entirely inappropriate response.

“A large dowry, I take it?” he asked. Margaret’s had been 10,000 pounds. If Anne’s was the same, why was she not married? Ah. The child Cleghorn had mentioned. She had, presumably, followed her sister’s path. A pity. She had been a sweet wee girl.

“Large enough. Clarence thinks it should have been his. You didn’t come here to talk to me about my dowry, Lord Hicklestone. I am grateful for your intervention, but I would like you to state your business.”

“My business. Yes. Well. May I sit down?” Edward gestured towards the bench. Sitting would help him disguise his body’s enthusiasm for getting to know her better. This was Margaret’s little sister, for crying out loud! He forced himself to remember the scene that had sent him fleeing England: his betrothed, her eyes shut in ecstasy while his brother pounded into her. Sure enough, the thought helped to shrivel his interest. However lovely she looked, however ladylike she appeared, she was of the same blood as the deceitful bitch that had ruined his life.

“Yes, of course.” Anne nodded. Edward took a moment to remember the question, but when she took a seat at one end the bench, he sat at the other. She was certainly more direct than her sister, no subtle hints, no flirting glances. He would do her the courtesy of being direct in return.

“I came to let you know that I plan to complete the demolition of the castle. It is not a safe place to live, Miss Cleghorn, so you and your sister will need to make other arrangements.”

Her jaw dropped as she stared at him, and the colour drained from her face then flooded back in. “Make other arrangements? You mean to throw us out?” She blinked rapidly.

Were those tears? Edward shifted uneasily. “It is not safe,” he repeated.

She lifted her chin, and her voice was cold when she said. “We have lived here more than seven years, Lord Hicklestone. None of us have been injured.”

Her glare was so potent, he almost looked down at his chest to see if his coat was smoldering. The rumble and thud of a falling rock on the other side of the wall strengthened his determination. “Nevertheless, I could not reconcile it with my conscience to allow you to continue to put yourself in danger, Miss Cleghorn.”

For some reason, that sent her fury up another notch. “You and your conscience ignored us for many years, sir, and we have managed just fine without you. Or your brother.”

What the hell did that mean? “I did not know the condition of the castle or that you lived here. Not until this morning.” His own temper flared. Why was he defending himself to her? She was living rent free on his land! But hold on. Perhaps she could not afford to move?

He needed more information. Mitcham was not able to answer his questions, and he’d ridden over here without asking anyone else. How long had they lived here? Why did John allow it? And now another one. Who had fathered Anne’s daughter? What promises had John made to them – promises he had no intention of keeping, probably, but Edward was not such a louse.

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Tea with Bear and Lion

 

Lord Ruthford’s friend had little to say for himself, letting Ruthford carry the conversation with Eleanor while he listened with every evidence of interest. Ruthford was answering Eleanor’s questions about the health of Lady Ruthford, who was soon to deliver her second child. “We must be boring Mr Gavenor,” Eleanor said, when she was satisfied with Ruthford’s responses. “What brings you to London, Mr Gavenor?”

Gavenor examined her face while he considered his answer. Eleanor could see how he got his nickname ‘Bear’. He was unquestionably a large man, both broad and tall, but he handled her delicate little china cups with elegant ease, his speech was that of an educated gentleman, and his clothing — though tailored for ease of movement — was of the highest quality.

“I have a matter of business, Your Grace,” he said at last.

“And then he must be home to his wife.” Ruthford grinned as he spoke. “Bear has recently married, duchess, and should really be back in Cheshire with his Rosa, not here in London traipsing around dusty old houses with me.”

Gavenor took the teasing in good part, his smile genuine. “And Lion should be home making sure Lady Ruthford takes a sleep in the afternoon and a gentle walk after supper,” he responded, proving that he had been listening when Eleanor instructed his friend. Lion was the name by which most of his friends knew Ruthford — most of England, now, since the team of daring soldiers Ruthford had led behind enemy lines during the war was now known far and wide as Lion’s Zoo. Lion, Bear, Centaur, Fox. They all had fanciful animal names, and Eleanor was pleased to see that at least some of them remained friends even two years after they were disbanded.

“Tell me more about your wife, Mr Gavenor,” she said. “What is her name?”

Bear and Rosa are the hero and heroine of House of Thorns, currently on pre-release and to be published this Friday.

***

Bear explains his marriage to Lion in the following excerpt.

“Rosa. Rosabel Neatham. I found her on a ladder picking my roses.” Once he started, the story came easily. “Then a few days after the wedding, I got your message and came to London. So I hope you’re in a hurry to get back to Lady Ruthford, for I do not mean to linger here one day more than I need to.”

“I beg your pardon? A few days after the wedding? You married this paragon then abandoned her a few days after the wedding? Why on earth didn’t you write back and tell me to go soak my head?”

Bear’s guilty wince didn’t go unnoticed.

“You and the lady have had a falling out.”

“Not precisely. Rosa doesn’t… That is to say, I thought some distance might help, but Rosa is not one to nurse a grudge. She writes charming letters, and I write back. When I get home, we will put it behind us.”

“If you will take advice from a man married four years longer than you, when you get back to Mrs. Gavenor, discuss whatever it was and clear up any misunderstandings. She is very likely blaming herself for whatever came between you. Women do.”

“Surely not! It was my fault entirely. At least… Lion, I thought virgins bled.” Lord. I did not say that out loud, did I?

Lion took a sip of coffee. “Not that my experience is vast, but I don’t believe it to be an inevitable rule. It depends on the age of the woman, on what kinds of physical activities she has done—my own wife rode astride as a girl and… Well. Let’s leave it at that. And the man’s patience is important.”

Bear groaned. “I should probably be hanged.”

“I see.”

He probably did, too. The ability to pick up small clues and draw correct conclusions was one of his great assets as a commander, and he knew Bear better than anyone else in the world.

“You believed the rumors about her and you still married her?”

“No! At least, I thought they were mostly malicious lies. They started only after her father was no longer able to protect her, and the people most assiduous in pushing them all had an axe to grind.”

“This Pelman wanted to coerce her into bed and used the family feud with her respectable cousins.”

“In a nutshell. Dammit, Lion, it’s obvious to me now. She kissed like an innocent. I thought she was just shy, or nervous about being interrupted by the servants.”

“Ah well. Women are told their first time will be painful, though it is not necessarily so.” He smiled as if at a fond memory, then recalled himself and continued. “You made sure she enjoyed her second time, I assume.” He raised his brows again. “No. You rushed off to London, instead. Bear, tell me you didn’t let the poor lady know you thought she had had previous lovers.” Bear grimaced.

“You did.” Lion wagged his head from side to side. “Bear, Bear, what are we going to do with you? So, there she is miserable in Cheshire because her husband insulted then abandoned her. Here you are miserable in London because you have made a mess of things and don’t know how to put it right. Go home, Bear. Talk to your wife.”

by

Kissing on Sunday

I have three new releases in the next few weeks: House of Thorns on 26 October, Abbie’s Wish in Christmas Wishes on Main Street on 1 November, and Paradise Regained in Follow Your Star Home on 4 November. Here’s a kiss from each.

House of Thorns, with Bear and Rosa

He kissed her again, another butterfly touch of the lips, then put his hands on her waist and lifted her to sit on the dresser. Now her face was level with his.

“That is better,” he murmured against her mouth. Then his lips met hers again, not a mere brush this time, but a gentle and inexorable advance, setting her lips tingling and taking her breath. His hands slid behind her, pulling her against his chest, so he stood between her open knees, his body pressed tightly to hers.

No, just one hand hugged her, for the other came up behind her head, and tipped it slightly, holding it in place as his lips moved against hers and his tongue swept the seam of her shut mouth once, twice, and again. He hummed with satisfaction when she parted her lips a little, letting his tongue dart inside, and her whole body hummed with pleasure.

Pelman had subjected her to a kiss once; an awkward, embarrassing thing, with her twisting to escape and him boxing her into a corner and pawing her body while he slobbered on her face. The new Lord Hurley, who had also propositioned her when he first arrived at the Hall, had respected her refusal. In fact, he had rather avoided her, and had left again not long after the will was read.

Pelman laughed when she said ‘no’ and waylaid her when she was alone. It had, until now, been her only experience of the pastime, and she had not seen the appeal.

It was very different being the focus of Bear’s undivided attention, the recipient of his tender passion.

She lost herself in the new feelings, grasping his shoulders to bring herself closer to his body, trying her best to imitate the movements of his mouth and tongue.

He pulled away, and rested his forehead on hers, still holding her close. “We had best stop, Rosabel. You are to be my wife, and worthy of all respect, and I have no intention of tupping you on the kitchen dresser. At least, not until we are wed.”

Rosa reluctantly let him go, and he stepped back a little so he could lift her down to the floor. She was pleased to see he looked almost as dazed as she felt. “Would you call me Rosa?” she asked.

“If you wish, though Rosabel suits you. Beautiful rose. My beautiful Rosa.” He still held her waist, and he leaned forward to drop a kiss on her hair. “I will move to the village this afternoon, Rosa, and will ask the rector to post the banns tomorrow.”

On prerelease at 99c from Amazon

Abbie’s Wish, with Claudia and Ethan

Ethan squeezed Claudia’s hand, trying to lend her his strength. She squeezed back as she answered. “Just Carly and Trent. And their children.”

“Okay.” The voice sounded smug. “Don’t call the police. Just be waiting. Alone. One of your friends can drop you off but they had better be gone by the time I get there, or else. You and I are going to take a little trip.”

“And you’ll let Abbie go?” Claudia asked.

“Abbie will be fine. As long as you follow instructions.”

Beep. He had ended the call. Claudia turned to Ethan, her eyes huge and swimming in a face drained of color, . Her own arms hugging him as if he was the one solid rock in a stormy world reassured him, and he dropped a kiss on her hair.

“We’ll get her back, Claudia,” he vowed.

(Waiting for links. Watch this space.)

Paradise Regained, with James and Mahzad

She was avoiding his eyes, bending over her weapons, putting the arrows neatly away into the quiver and unstringing the bow. “They said you refused to go and that you told your father’s men that you would not leave your wife.” She whirled back to face him, snarling in her turn. “I say little difference if you did, since you are never here anyway and spend no time with me when you are.”

James was reeling from her dozen blows, some of which had got completely under his guard, but this last remark matched so closely to his own feelings about Mahzad that he struck back.

“You’re the one who is always busy and who never has time for me. You are too busy being katan and mother and friend to everyone in the valley. You’ve made it more than clear you don’t need me, and you don’t want me around.” He took a step closer toward her, crowding her against the table. “But this is my valley. They are my children. You are my wife. It’s about time you remembered that.”

He seized her and forced his mouth down on hers, intending a punishing kiss that overwhelmed her defenses and reminded her he was master in this area as in others, but she met his force with her own passion, softening under his invasion, molding her body to his as she clutched his head to pull him closer. His original intent forgotten, he poured all his longing into the kiss, trying to communicate his love and his frustration, losing himself in the touch and smell and sound of this one woman who was to him above all others.

Until she broke the kiss and shoved him away. “I cannot believe you blame me for all this,” she said. “Just like a man.”

And she stalked away, leaving him alone.

Follow Your Star Home, preorder links on the Belle’s website