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.