Say No to Ivory Poaching!

Just received this from the IFWA:  Please sign the petition and share and re-share to as many outlets as possible.  

http://www.ifaw.org/united-kingdom/our-work/elephants/say-no-ivory-join-elephant-march

Oh How I Hate my Beautiful Friend - Challenge/Blogfest 45

Code NCCO

Just over word count: (((slaps hand)))

I know, I know, I've cheated with a snippet from my upcoming book due out on release next month. Brief: It's 1650 England. The hero has been beaten up during a highway robbery and confined to bed with suspected broken ribs The story leads onto the famed escape of Charles II from Worcester post English Civil War. The heroine is not his wife, merely his betrothed at present...

“The two most beautiful women in the district,” said Thomas, a cheery smile, “and which of the two I wonder will tenderly feel my brow and declare me fit for a kiss.”

  This was the moment, the moment she had feared, the moment when Thomas’ eyes seemed as though embracing Anna. It was always thus the instant her ladyship entered a room; his eyes following her every movement. She had no right to feel jealous of the close bond between them, yet pain of rancour came upon her without warning, for Anna was younger and breathtakingly beautiful.

  To envy Anna could ruin her own relationship with her most treasured friend, for her ladyship gave no reason to suspect her guilty of inner heartfelt desires for Thomas. Nevertheless her ladyship went straight to his side, hand to brow a stern expression. “I do declare you are most unwell, Thomas. A fever no less.” Anna stepped back a pace, as though fearful of taint from a sick man, yet appeared to bestow a secretive smile for him alone? “You are in need of cold cloths applied to your heated body, and I cannot assist you in this.”

  He laughed heartily, winced with effort to sit up a little, and said, “Ha, yet Morton in fever and you slaved for days over his body to save his life.”

  “That I did, but he knew nothing of my hand in his recovery until you revealed all.”

  “And if I told you what he said you’d blush as you have never blushed in your life, my lady.” His eyes fell from Anna’s face, and instead settled on her own and her heart melted. “Her ladyship is a wicked tease, Bess, and  . . .”

  “I am aware of that,” she said, her outburst unnecessarily bitter.

  “What have I done or not done, Bess? Something ails you. I’ve never known you so quiet.”

  “Nothing ails me, bar your sister.”

  “Come here, Bess,” he said, tapping the bed beside him. “We have little enough time together as it is, and you choose to stand there when I know you are keen to leap atop me.”

  Anna laughed. “I shall leave now, for I am more than reassured you are back to your old self.” With that she smiled, the like bestowed only on close friends. “Make the most of this time, Elizabeth. I shall detain Catherine for as long as I am able.”


To see entries by other participants go here.

I'll be doing the rounds to comment on Sunday afternoon/evening...

Romantic Friday Writers - Challenge/blogfest 44

The RFW Challenge for this Friday is "I Should Have Kissed You". 

Should this be your first visit to a Romantic Friday Challenge feel free to join in the fun: just visit RFW, sign up on the linky and post your prose!

Word count: 596

Code: NCCO

And again, yes, wicked, I know, I've selected a passage from my published Historical Murder Mystery and Romance: Venetian Encounter. 

Brief: Lieutenant Herne and Countess Roscoff have become acquainted whilst staying at the English Emissary's Residence in Naples, Italy.  Attracted to one another, the countess nevertheless dare not let herself fall for the Lt's charming manner. He too is reticent in the belief she is far more than she seems, after a daring jewel theft occurred within the residency. They are also intrigued by the close relationship between Admiral Lord Nelson, Emma Lady Hamilton and William Lord Hamilton. Anyhoo, attractions and desires are sometimes tempting indeed and not as easily dismissed as one might wish for! ;)

~

   

   Therese glanced one to the other of the trio. Perhaps, thinking the WE significant and a little bold in the circumstance of the present predicament presented to the ménage à trios.

   “How soon?” enquired Therese, her china blues finally fixed on Emma Lady Hamilton.

   “A day or two for preparation and then, well . . . Take our leave I presume.”

   William Lord Hamilton stomped off to his study, Nelson headed for the terrace, and Emma looked utterly torn between both, and instead turned and fled up the grand staircase.

   Therese turned her china blues on him, her expression speculative. “And did you know nothing of this?”

   Hand pressed to heart, he declared, “I can honest say I had not a hand in this.”

   “But you knew, or at least had a suspicion something was afoot.” Hint of a smile streaked her face. “Is that not so?”

   “Rumour is one thing, evidence of imminent event another.”

   She laughed, a soft laugh. “Come now Lieutenant Herne, you arrive a few days in advance of bad news and then claim no hand in what is to come of this upset.”

   Had she overheard Nelson before entry to the salon, for her words mirrored his almost word for word?

   “Given that I am to take leave from here tomorrow, I fail to see how blame for letters delivered this very day can be levelled on my head.”

   “You are leaving, then? It has been confirmed?”

   If he didn’t know better, he could believe Therese was disappointed at news of his imminent departure. “Duty calls.”

   “And where does duty call you away to?”

   “That I am not at liberty to reveal.”

   She pouted her lips, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Oh, I see. Secret Admiralty business.”

   “Afraid so.”

   To tell her he would be sailing south and then into the Adriatic might set alarm bells ringing, and in any case he might never make it to Venice if orders due on the morrow dictated otherwise. Like Nelson, he had pleasurable pursuits in mind but no inclination to conduct such aboard ship.

   She smiled, a temptingly brazen smile, and strolled toward the open doors leading to the terrace. “Then this evening must be a goodbye celebration, for I too will be homeward bound in a few days time.”

   “Venice?”

   “But of course. Where else?” She leaned forward and glanced in both directions along the terrace. “It seems your sea lord has taken himself off for a walk.”

   “That, or . . .”

   “Would he?” she exclaimed, curl of lip hinting amusement to the idea of a man sneaking to a lady’s bedchamber in broad daylight.

   “Why not?”

   She stepped forward and glanced toward steps leading up to the second floor balcony. He in turn stepped closer, equally curious, and in doing so blocked her retreat to the drawing room. She turned suddenly and stumbled into him. From his perspective the collision could not have been better timed to perfection, and she was clearly not immune to the physicality of it all.

    A blush to her cheeks was charming in its innocence for she had not expected him to be that close. He leaned forward as though about to kiss her, and her eyes declared such was a pleasing gesture. As much as he wanted to devour her kissable lips, he stepped aside allowing her the opportunity to slip past him, which she did with a swish of skirts and not a glance backward as she left the room. No matter, he now knew she had wanted him to press his lips to hers.

   

If interested in this novel or others of mine inclusive 1st Chapters -  all can be found here.

To see entries by other participants go here.

Romantic Friday Writer Challenge 43 - Romantic Picnic

The RFW Challenge for this week is Romantic Picnic. 400 words max or less (blushes with guilt) and I'm slightly over word count ((((slaps hand))))

Should this be your first visit to a Romantic Friday Challenge feel free to join in the fun: just visit RFW, sign up on the linky and post your prose!

Cheating again with snippet from my published Historical Romance "Infamous Rival" -

 A Regency Murder Mystery.

~

~

In the eyes of the Marquis of Rantchester this was meant to be a romantic picnic and he does intend a little romancing, but the cruelty of another toward a horse and vile confrontation moments beforehand have unsettled  him and the heroine, and she is only just beginning to trust him: again. Bear in mind it's a murder mystery.

Explanation re historical novel: tiger = liveried groom whom sits/stands at rear of the carriage!

Code: NCCO

Discussing private matters and inner fears whilst a driver up front and tiger behind, was not exactly of her choosing. She cast her gaze from the marquis’ face and he graciously accepted their conversation at end for the present: until the carriage came to a standstill beneath a magnificent oak tree at the edge of a small copse.        

    “I am utter famished he said,” alighting from the carriage before Jem had even turned, let alone leapt down to carry out his routine tasks. “Stay where you are, Jem” the marquis commanded, and duly hauled a picnic hamper from the carriage along with a carriage rug. “Right, be off with the pair of you, and back here within two hours,” his instructions to the driver, as soon as her feet touched the ground.

    The carriage rolled away and left to their own devices Rantchester spread out the rug and said, “This is where we go native, and perch our arses on the ground.” She laughed, she couldn’t help herself, for he discarded his hat and jacket and further said,  “The Lady first.”

    She settled to the rug rather glad of the cool shade afforded by the tree’s overhead canopy. “It’s a lovely spot up here. And a glorious view over Bristol.”

    “It is,” his reply, the picnic hamper to hand. “Now, what have we got to munch on?”

    She glanced to her left, Bath below them, then back at Rantchester. “How did you find this heavenly place?”

    He grinned, game pie already to mouth a bite taken. “An assignation with a lady of note, years ago.” He chewed on his pie, then said, “Memorable day, for I lost my virginity.” He swallowed, and laughed heartily. “I see you’re not shocked, which brings me to why I asked you out today.” He gestured to the hamper. “Eat, please, or I shall feel less than a gentleman whilst sat here stuffing my face.”

    She surveyed the basket, and he in turn leaned forward and drew forth a small silver engraved flagon and two silver goblets. “Goodness, who prepared all this for you?”

    “My cook, and I won’t do without her. She goes where I go and sees me proud for whatever I demand of her.”

    “Well, she most certainly sees right by you.” She selected a stuffed apricot, a mere bite delicious. “Oh my goodness, what does this filling consist of?”

    “Chopped hazelnuts, herbs, ginger, lamb and apricot.” He glanced at her then, a goblet extended and half filled with claret coloured liquid. “Why do women have to know what it is they’re eating?” He shook his head, clearly amused at her reticence to accept the wine. “Drink up, it’s not poisoned.” Again he looked her in the eye. “About that night of the summer ball.”

    Her trust in him now assured she accepted the goblet and fibbed outright. “I must tell you . . . some aspects of that night still elude me. I simply cannot remember.”

    He drained his goblet in one swig, his eyes settling on hers. “I wish.  For I remember it all too well.” He refilled his goblet, glanced skyward. “Damn it all, dragging up the past on a day like this, I must be mad.”

    “But it is necessary, is it not?”

If remotely interested in my books they're here.

To see more contributions to the challenge go here

RFW Challenge/Blogfest.

Romantic Friday Writers hold a fortnightly writing challenge: themes set by RFW. Why not pop along and join in the fun!

GUIDELINES: 400 words of prose or poetry. Must contain a romantic element, small or significent.

This is snatched from my Regency Romance *Scandalous Whisper*.  In days gone by letters were commonplace and the art of writing such was something to be proud of. Anyhoo, the letter below and the heroine's anguish says it all! There is an underlying message in the letter but Christina has yet to fathom that aspect of the message. Can you grasp what Robert Lord Devonish is telling her? If you would like to read the first chapter of this novel you'll find it here.

Butterfly girl,

It is with deep regret I have to inform you the door to the tower folly will be padlocked and remain inaccessible for the foreseeable future. I cannot in all honesty bear the thought of another man trespassing in what has now become a precious place to me. Recall to my regiment arrived a day past, and I know not when we shall return. We are bound for India soon after Yuletide.  The painting you so admired will be put into storage on Wednesday morning.  However, I have a miniature you might like to consider in fair exchange for my having full possession of the portrait. Should you wish to accept my gift and cannot oblige in person. Look for a moss covered stone close to the hinge side of the door. It is loose and will prise free.

God bless, and should you see a Purple Emperor come summer, remember me. 

Yours ever,

Robert Devonish.

  Tears spilled forth. The letter was so formal her heart sank to the depths of despair.  He could have, should have expressed the love shared between them but had not. She could not see it if it was there.

  What did his words mean beyond imminent embarkation for India and some miniature gifted to her? What a cruel trick after . . .

  She dared not dwell on her recklessness in throwing herself at him. What a foolish thing to have incited lust within him. For that is what it was. Nothing more. She glanced at the letter again. Yet it was signed yours ever, something no gentleman should impart to a lady of no consequence.

  Confusion befell her, for her heart screamed to see only good in his letter while her head saw clear evidence of his backing away. Why would he do that? Was it then true, that he was to be wed to Lady Emily Roach?  If that was so why had he wanted to approach her parents and ask for her own hand in marriage? Had their liaisons at the folly meant nothing more than a pleasant distraction, and mention of marriage mere overture to seduction? How foolish she had been and a terrible lesson learned.

  She reread and reread his words again and again, sobs catching in her throat, tears spilling onto the letter-headed paper.  She cast it aside tempted to put it to flames in the hearth for her heart felt torn apart; a terrible hurting never experienced before. She glanced at the very window where once roses in a vase had stood, and she recalled the incident of his looking up and his catching her spying on him.

  What had she done wrong? 


To see entries by other participants go here.