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...
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! ;)
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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.
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.
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~
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.”
