Harlequin Historical Authors

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green Chapter 18

noreply@blogger.com (Marguerite Kaye) — Tue, 26 Mar 2013 08:00:00 +0000

by Marguerite Kaye

Eve screamed and the knife clattered to the floor, skidding over the polished wooden boards. Staggering back, she crashed into the door and was trying to fumble for the handle when a large hand clamped around her wrist.

‘How many times do I have to say it! I must not be disturbed in the night.’ The man cursed heavily and the vice-like hold on her arm was released. A switch clicked, and the room – a bedchamber – was filled with a weak electric light.

‘It’s you!’

A sheen of sweat made his black hair cling to his furrowed brow. There were dark shadows under his blue eyes. Beneath the stubble which roughened his jaw, his skin was ashen. He did not look to be much older than when she had first encountered him in the trench, but there was something haunted in his expression that told of suffering beyond description. Eve reached out to touch the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek. ‘You survived the blast. I was so afraid – but you’re alive.’

‘Alive, though there are times when I feel I am in a living hell.’ Major Tristan Daubenay ran a shaking hand through his hair. ‘Every night since the war ended, it is the same. I close my eyes and they are there, the dead. So many of them, I can’t even remember their names.’ He padded over to the bedside table and slopped water into a glass from the jug there. ‘I dream I am back in the trenches fighting for my life. I almost strangled my mother one night, when she tried to waken me. That’s why I gave orders that no-one was to disturb me, not matter what racket I make. I took you for a German spy just now. You’re lucky I didn’t slit that beautiful throat of yours.’ He slumped down onto the bed. ‘Shell shock, they call it in the men. In we officers, it is deemed a lack of moral fibre. My mother is embarrassed by me.’ The major swore again. ‘I sometimes think it would have been better if I had died.’

Appalled by the naked suffering in his face, Eve sat down beside him, clasping his hand between hers. ‘We call it post-traumatic stress now. It is a recognised illness, nothing to be ashamed of. I cannot imagine the horrors you must have lived through.’

His fingers tightened in hers. ‘Nothing to what I’ve seen others suffer. I’m alive, and relatively unscathed. I should be grateful.’

‘Instead of which you feel guilty,’ Eve said gently.

He looked at her in surprise. ‘How did you know?’

She shook her head. ‘When I last saw you it was the night before the Somme. The odds were stacked against you, you said. And there was that huge blast, I still cannot believe you survived.’

He smiled the crooked smile she remembered, and fumbled with the buttons on his striped pyjama top to reveal a scar shaped like a starburst over his heart. ‘A miracle,’ he said, ‘and it was thanks to you in part.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I told you the angels of the battlefield signified either death or good fortune. You, my angelic lady in green, brought me enormous good fortune. He reached under his pillow. ‘This. I don’t know how it came to be in the pocket of my tunic, but it deflected the shrapnel which should have killed me. I carried it with me over my heart for the rest of the war. It is my lucky charm. In the night, when I feel the terrors starting, if I can just hold it – sometimes it keeps them at bay.’

In his hand, he held the large emerald which had formed the centre-piece of her necklace. Eve’s blood ran cold. ‘Your lucky charm,’ she repeated with a sense of foreboding. ‘But the scar?’ She placed her hand over the strange indentation, feeling his heart beat steadily beneath her palm.

For answer, he placed the emerald on the scar where it sat, looking curiously as if it had grown there. ‘They couldn’t understand it at the field hospital, by rights the stone should have pierced the bone and then my heart. It is absurd I know, but I fear that if ever I were to lose it, I would die. What is it, my angel, why do you look so sad?’

‘It’s nothing.’ She couldn’t ask him to surrender it, she simply could not. She could only hope that in some parallel universe, the emerald would find its way back to Sebastian’s family, but she was not going to be the one to deprive Major Daubenay of the one comfort he had. So many stories intertwined, so many of Sebastian’s ancestors she had encountered during this bewildering night, Eve felt suddenly quite overcome and in dire need of the one pair of arms she knew were the right ones, the only ones, for her. ‘I must leave now,’ she said, getting wearily to her feet.

‘The last thing I remember before the blast was your lips on mine,’ the major said. ‘The sweetest of kisses, I know it would have been. I doubt I’ll see you again, my angel. Will you grant me that kiss before you leave?’

Hot tears streaked her cheeks as she twined her arms around his neck. With a muffled groan, he enfolded her, pulling her tight against him. ‘My angel.’

It was indeed the sweetest of kisses, tinged with regret, salty with her tears. ‘Darling Tristan, you’ll recover given time. Think of me whenever you hold the emerald,’ she whispered, as the floor began to rock and shift, the weak electric light dimmed, and Eve felt herself falling…

MARGUERITE KAYE

I write hot historical romances from cold and usually rainy Scotland featuring rakes, sheikhs and Highlanders. I also knit and like to drink martinis. I have a time travel short, Lost in Pleasure, out in March, and I'm currently working on a series of three linked short stories set in the First World War, due for release next year. You can find out more about me and my books on my website, www.margueritekaye.com, or join me for a chat on Facebook or Twitter.

His Lady in Green: Chapter 17

noreply@blogger.com (Julia Justiss) — Mon, 25 Mar 2013 06:00:00 +0000

The sparkle intensified as the whispered word faded. Dizzied, Eve shook her head, trying to clear her vision. Finally the swirling light steadied, coalescing into candlelight reflected off the jeweled hilt of a dagger—which she held once again in her hand.

Fingers clenching on the weapon, Eve looked around her. The large canopied bed and tall wardrobe told her she’d been transported to a bedchamber. A lady’s bedchamber, for she stood before a dressing table, the tip of her dagger pointing toward a large jewel case.

A shock ran through her. Might the rest of the Merygham emeralds be hidden within that case?

Eagerly she applied the dagger to the lock, twisting until it yielded. Ignoring the outrageousness of her actions—after all that had happened this night, what matter a bit of thievery?—she plunged her hands into the case, pushing aside necklaces, ear bobs, brooches winking with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, searching for the green fire of emeralds.

At the very back of the case, her fingers encountered a jumble of unset stones. She raked them into the light and her heart leapt. Emeralds! Emeralds of graduated size that would perfectly complement the brooch and the stones she’d already retrieved.

Hastily she pulled them out and thrust them into the evening bag with the others. Were these stones enough to complete the necklace? If so, how and where was she to get them set?

Before she could decide what to do next, the chamber door opened. Gasping, Eve closed the jewel case and whirled to face the newcomer.

Sebastian! her heart sang. But even as she poised herself to run into his arms, she realized once again, she’d been fooled by the handsome profile above a black dinner jacket and white tie. This was not her Sebastian, but the elegant Regency Sebastian she’d met earlier on the stairway.

He’d halted, too, staring at her. “My Lady in Green!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing in my mother’s chamber?”

While Eve fumbled for some plausible explanation, he advanced on her. “”No need for a dagger, my lovely, I mean you no harm, but…” He broke off, his expression of delighted surprise turning to concern. “Your gown is torn—and is that blood on your shoulder? Are you injured?”

“M-mud, not blood,” she stuttered. “I’ve been, ah, traveling.” As she tucked her evening bag under her arm to rub at the spot, two emeralds spilled out.

Drat, she must not have fastened the clasp! Before she could snatch them up, Sebastian swept them off the floor. He gazed at the gems in his palm, then back at her, his expression turning grimmer. “The emeralds. Papa brought them for Mama, but she never fancied them. Not with the curse.

“Curse?” Eve echoed faintly.

“Returning from London after purchasing the gems, Papa came upon a band of gypsies, who were being driven out by the local residents of the town through which he was riding. Having pity on them, he offered the leader a stone to buy food and supplies. We need shelter and a place to stay, not gems, the leader replied—for what jeweler would believe the stone wasn’t stolen? Knowing his neighbors were unlikely to look favorably on having a gypsy band settle near Meryngham, Papa regretfully refused. The gypsy leader tossed the emerald back at him, pronouncing a curse on the stones and anyone who wore them. Unless…”

“Unless...?”

“Unless the gems were given as a token of true love by the heir to his lady. Sadly, my parents’ marriage was an arranged one. Mama kept the stones, but as you see, unset.”

The necklace must have been created by some later Daubenay, Eve thought. And at what point had the fate of the necklace determined the fate of Merygham?

“You could stay…and I could give them to you,” Sebastian said softly, placing the stones back in her palm before reaching to caress the spot where she’d brushed away the mud. “I hardly dared hope I would see you again—but here you are! Our love could break the curse.”

His touch was mesmerizing, intoxicating. She was so tired and confused, and he was so very like her Sebastian. Was this what she was meant to do? Stay with this Sebastian, so the necklace might be created?

His lips brushed her bare throat, sending shivers down her spine, calling up a heated response from deep within her. “I’d make you a choker of green fire,” he whispered. “Fire to match the blaze you ignite within me as I touch you…kiss you.”

He pulled her unresisting body closer and took her mouth. He even tasted like her Sebastian, she thought muzzily as his tongue swept hers. She swayed, and he caught her to him, fitting her against his lean hard strength.

How easy it would be to stay within the shelter of his arms, giving herself into his care. But some nagging bit of resistance held her back.

He’d said “choker,” not “necklace,” she realized, the importance of that fact finally breaking through her sensual haze. The heirloom she’d worn earlier this evening had been long, the central brooch nestling in the hollow between her breasts.

She could not be meant to stay here.

Still, Eve had to summon every last bit of strength and will to push him away.

“I..I cannot stay,” she said, retreating from him. “I must take the gems and go. I can’t explain, but it is imperative for you, for the future of the Daubenays.”

The heated look fading from his eyes, he reached out to capture her shoulders. “But my lovely lady, how can I protect you from harm if you go? No, you must stay.”

Did he know about the danger that threatened the wearer of the necklace? Before she could ask him, he moved toward the door, a hand raised as if to lock it. “I cannot allow you to make the sacrifice.”

If the necklace were not complete, the Daubenays—and her Sebastian—would suffer. She could not let this Sebastian trap her here! Clutching the loose emeralds in her hand, she rushed for the door, struggling as he sought to prevent her from passing.

“If you care for me, let me go!” she cried, breaking free as his fingers slipped on the silk of her gown.

Picking up her skirts, she raced out the door and down the hallway, frantic to escape his following footsteps. Coming to a cross passage, she turned down the unlit hallway, grabbed the handle of the first door she saw, and rushed in.

Closing it behind her, Eve leaned against the solid oak panel, gasping. Not until she straightened did she realize she was not alone—as the cold steel of a blade slid against her throat.

--Julia Justiss

Julia Justiss is happy to announce the first book of her Ransleigh Rogues series, the story of four cousins, best friends through childhood and university, whose destinies are forever altered by war and the love of one remarkable woman.

March's THE RAKE TO RUIN HER features "Magnificent Max," earl's son and leader of the Rogues, whose dreams of a brilliant government career are ruined by betrayal at the Congress of Vienna. But heiress Caroline Denby, who wishes to avoid marriage, is delighted to encounter the disgraced Max at a houseparty. Why not, she proposes, put his bad reputation to good use by ruining hers?

His Lady In Green: Chapter Sixteen

noreply@blogger.com (Georgina Devon) — Fri, 22 Mar 2013 00:49:00 +0000

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Eve turned slowly, taking in the room around her. Lit by candles and a roaring fire, it was small, but the furniture was well made, even sumptuous. Leather seats and carved wood tables. She had once more changed locations and, it appeared, finances. This was a wealthy man’s retreat.

“My lady, I thought to never see you again.”

The voice was strangely familiar, but without the Scottish burr and urgency. The fleeing Jacobite…

A man’s bowed head and extended hand met her gaze. His red hair was cropped short, fashionable for her time, but not here. Now men wore wigs. His shirt was fine lawn with ruffles down the front. Instead of feminine, the design was very masculine with the front open to his chest and showing auburn hairs curled enticingly against flat muscles. Would his abs be ripped? Very likely. Plain brown pantaloons hugged his lean hips and white stockings showed powerful calves displayed to perfection by his ‘perfect leg’. A man worth returning to.

She put her hand in his. “My lord, am I in France?” His lips brushed her skin, sending tremors up her arm. Now she understood why the gallant gesture was so popular. It was touching that created sensation, yet did not flaunt the conventions.

He released her and straightened, standing a good four inches taller, even though she still wore her spiked heels. “Nay. You are in a different room, but still in the Meryngham Castle. I am a guest, a distant cousin of the current Earl and his soon to deliver wife.” A smile twisted his fine, full lips. “With luck, she bears the heir.”

“Your heir,” Eve murmured.

Sadness darkened his eyes, turning them to the grey of a stormy sea. “’Tis better this way. My loyalties have always been over the water.” He shook himself. “But enough of this. A birthing is no time for melancholy. Particularly this one.”

She nodded. “As you wish.”

“What I wish for, Lady in Green, is another kiss. I have never forgotten the last, though it be ten years ago.” His gaze ran over her as he moved in. “I knew last time you were indecently dressed, but I never imagined this.” His voice ended on a raspy note as his hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her to him.

Eve gasped just as his mouth took hers. His tongue invaded, bringing a taste of finest Scotch and mint. She shivered as her body responded. With a sigh of pleasure her fingers tangled in the fine lace ruffles at his nape.

But enough! She wasn’t here to dally with him. With another sigh, only regret this time, she pushed against his hard chest. He let her go, but his heated perusal did nothing to calm the fire that flared between them.

“As tempting as your kiss is, I am here for another reason-”

“The missing emeralds.” He reached out and one finger traced her collar bone where the emeralds once rested. “I wondered.”

She took a deep breath and tried to bury her reaction to his touch. She loved Sebastian. “What do you mean?”

He turned away and moved to a coat lying over the back of a chair. He dug in one of the copious pockets. Coming back to her, he held out his hand.

“Oh!” Eve stared at the jewelry nestled in his palm. Emeralds, diamonds and gold winked and sparked in the flickering light.

“Aye. ‘Twas given to me for services rendered. I brought it with me, intending to give it to the mother-to-be, but now I think it belongs to you.”

She took it from him. “It’s the centrepiece of the necklace, but now it’s a brooch.” She held it up. “But much fine jewelry is made up of various pieces that can be worn in several ways.”

He nodded. “I do not know what has happened, but my gut says the necklace must be found. I am only sorry I have only this piece. I would give you all if I could.”

She saw the need in his eyes, an emotion she couldn’t see in the dark of her last visit. “Will you be all right?”

He nodded, his attention never wavering from her face, as though he stored every feature, every emotion. “I am a chevalier of France now. Not as exalted as an English Earl, but better than it might have been.”

“What year is this?” Sudden fear curdled her stomach.

“Seventeen fifty-six.” He grimaced. “It took me awhile to earn my place, I know-“

She reached out and grabbed his arm, feeling the muscles flex beneath her fingers. “Please, please be careful. Never make France your permanent home. Promise me.”

He stared at her. “Do you know something?”

Eve bit her lip. Should she tell him? Would it matter? Sparkles danced around him, as though her decision called them into being.

“Promise me…”

As many of you may realize, Eve is warning him about the French Revolution. While it is still years in the future, this Sebastian is a fine specimen with every likelihood of living long enough to be caught up in the destruction and death. Luckily, I know he heeds her warning. :) best: Georgina Devon

p.s. be sure to look for A Christmas to Remember, a novella originally written for Zebra Regencies now on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green - Chapter 15

noreply@blogger.com (Terri Brisbin) — Thu, 21 Mar 2013 03:00:00 +0000

By Terri Brisbin

‘Remember me?’

At first, Eve thought that Ranulf’s words yet echoes in her mind, at least until the thick growth of heather at her feet and the tall, muscular form of Dougal MacKinnon drew her attention.

‘Remember me, milady?’ he asked, his sonorous voice and appealing burr causing a shiver of decadent longing deep inside her.

He stepped closer, holding out his hand to her and, damn her weakness!, she took hold. Part of her reacted to the longing she felt, but part of her simply needed to feel something, someone, real right now. The events and people of this night were wearing on her and the fear of what still lay ahead made her tremble. Could she find the missing emeralds? Would she ever return to her own time and to Sebastian?

Dougal pulled her to him and wrapped his strong arms around her, giving her the grounding she so needed in this moment. Real or not, he felt it and she would take that for now. A short respite from the revolving doors and times and places. As though he understood, he held her close and kissed her forehead gently. Eve closed her eyes and just let his strength and comfort seep into her. After a long minute, she opened her eyes and glanced around at their surroundings. Not the chamber where she’d met him the first time, they now stood in a clearing before a large, stone keep.

‘Where are we?’ she asked. ‘This is not England.’ He released her and stepped a pace back while keeping her hand in his.

‘This is Broch Ayre,’ he said, a possessive smile curving his sexy mouth in a way that begged her to kiss him. ‘My home.’

Eve searched her memory for any knowledge of the northern estates that belonged to the Meryngham title and could not remember any in Scotland.

‘How?’

‘Your visit in Meryngham Castle made me realize the futility of continuing my claim.’ Eve frowned, trying to remember anything she might have said that would have influenced him. She’d met and spoken with too many this night to keep it all straight.

‘The way you questioned that any Scot had held the Meryngham title,’ he replied to her silent question. ‘The Lady in Green is rumoured to know the past and future and I knew the truth of my quest. So,’ he said, gifting her with that wicked, wicked smile, ‘I bargained for what I could get.’ He motioned to the keep and the lands surrounding it. ‘Mine.’ She laughed then at his grin.

‘A practical solution,’ she said. ‘And you are content? With the keep and lands?’ she asked.

‘Keep. . .lands. . .a title of mine own and a good portion of gold,’ he rattled off the list of prizes he’d won in the bargain to her. She laughed at his obvious pride in managing to get as much as he did. ‘I am pleased with my winnings,’ he said. Before she could reply, he reached into the leather sporran that lay across his hips and pulled something out in his closed fist. ‘But this is more important than the rest.’

His fingers lifted and in his palm he held a large emerald. Could it be?

‘Aye, ‘tis one of their precious emeralds, collected and hoarded. This made me content,’ he said, closing his fist around it once more. ‘I suspected it would bring you to me in search of it and I was right.’ He frowned at her then, staring at the now-naked skin above the tight bodice of her gown. ‘What has happened to you?’

Her damp palms slid over the dirtied surface of the once-exquisite stone. Her stomach clenched then, realizing that the stones could be anywhere, anytime, now. Was that now her quest? To search through the Daubenay ancestors and gather the lost stones together so that a necklace could be made? But who would be the one to do that? How could she make the right choice, if she did manage to find them all?

‘I have been traveling and visiting many of the Daubenays this night,’ she said on a sigh. ‘From the first to the last, it would seem. I can hardly believe it’s possible.’

‘You are standing before me once again. It must be possible. Fear not, Eve,’ he said. She smiled as he remembered her name and spoke it as a whisper. ‘Follow not the stones, but search for love. Your true love will help you finish your quest this night.’ His searing green gaze captured hers then and he held out his hand to her. Opening his fist, he offered her the emerald there.

‘I see that it did bring you back to me, but now I return it to you. If the Fates declare that you will be mine, I will see you a third time.’

Eve hesitated. Dougal wanted her. He was a rightful Daubenay and the true heir at this time if his story was true—and she believed it was. Her heart urged her to accept him and his love and not to take the stone. To remain with him here and find a life. . . and love together. Was he her true love?

Dougal took her hand then and placed the emerald, smoothly-cut and sparkling , in her palm. Closing her fingers over it, he pulled her close and kissed her. She leaned against him as their mouths touched, opening to his tongue and tasting him as he deepened the kiss. Just as she leaned back to try to speak to him, the air around them began to twinkle, much like the light reflecting off the multi-angled cut gem had. He stared behind her and she knew a doorway had opened to her.

‘Dougal,’ she began. ‘I will. . . .’

Eve felt herself being pulled into a vortex of swirling winds and sounds and lost her breath at the intensity of the force commanding her through time. When her feet touched solid ground, she pulled in a ragged breath and turned towards the voice that called her from behind.

Ooh! What should Eve do now? Should she try to find Dougal a third time and fulfill the legend? Will she ever find her way back to Sebastian or find the rest of the emeralds? I have to say that a Highland warrior is very appealing to me - I think I'd stay! How about you? Which of the heroes is your favorite so far?

His Lady in Green: Chapter Fourteen

noreply@blogger.com (Cheryl St.John) — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 06:00:00 +0000

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

‘If you knew how much I’ve longed for this day you might have got here sooner,’ Eve heard a deep voice grumble when Ranulf Daubenay got over the impact of her landing in his arms like a ripe plum off a tree. ‘Welcome, laggard lady,’ he added with all sorts of ideas about making up lost time in his bold gaze.

She felt mature strength in his honed body against hers this time and she wondered what battles he’d fought while she was away.

‘How long have I been gone?’

‘Far too long,’ he murmured. There was such a heady longing in his brilliantly blue eyes, she felt sinfully tempted to give up her quest and stay right here.

‘I’m serious this time, Ranulf, how long is it since we met?’ she demanded, wriggling in his arms to remind herself Sebastian was her reality, not a magnificent buccaneer from another time.

‘Five long years, my lady. Half a decade of yearning for this...’

He lowered his head and his mouth teased a whisper above hers before taking a hungry kiss she wanted to fall into and never think again. She felt goose-bumps slide along her spine as he nuzzled her mouth to test her lips with a lick that made her shiver with wanting more. He let the slick satin of her dress slide her down his vigorous body until she was on her feet again and she gasped at the emphatic message that body sent her about how strongly he’d yearned and still did. Ranulf kept his eyes open and all his wicked intentions to seduce and daze her until she couldn’t leave were there in his blazing blue gaze. He nipped at her mouth as she slicked it and tasted him on her tongue. All they could never share twisted and fought against the desire to forget any other Daubenays existed in his arms.

‘You’ve been fighting?’ she murmured as her exploring fingers felt scars and welts on his upper arms and torso and her heart raced at the thought of him risking his body against sword and dagger.

‘Only restlessness and boredom today, my lovely lady, but treason and war plague this realm and I must fight for my Queen and country,’ he said soberly. ‘Would there was a better way to settle an argument than this senseless slaughter of fathers and sons on both sides.’

‘Aye, would there was,’ Eve echoed as she saw the true depth and breadth of this man’s humanity under the rogue’s charm he used to hide it from the wider world.

‘You’re leaving me?’ he asked with a depth of sadness it hurt her to inflict even as she nodded regretfully.

‘I have to.’

‘No, you don’t have to go, any more than Phillip of Spain had to send half the ships in Europe to overwhelm our little island because our stubborn Bess won’t marry him or bend to his will. You’re only leaving me because you don’t want to stay.’

‘Ah but I do,’ she argued and the ache for him was hot and heavy in her belly and even heavier in her heart, for he was a warrior and a man she could have been proud to love. ‘I have to take the dagger back and find the emeralds. You must forget me and choose a lady as bold and brave as you are, Ranulf. If you don’t, my love can’t exist in the time and place where I belong with your many times future heir.’

‘You twist and turn words better than a poet or a playwright.’

‘No, if I did I might be able to make you understand why it’s so important that I get back to him.’

‘I know about my own loneliness, Lady in Green, and will soon learn more, but here, take this with you,’ he offered and held out the jewelled dagger sheathed on his belt.

Instead of taking it, Eve watched in horror as her own hand seemed to waver and fade as she reached out to grasp it.

‘I can’t,’ she protested as she lost the reassurance of Ranulf, as solid and completely a man as any she had ever met, even as he morphed into the brasher Sir Ranulf she first met earlier tonight, or whatever time it was in this mess of then and now she was caught up in.

‘At least this must be yours, Lady,’ the younger and even bolder Ranulf said with his wicked grin, ‘remember me whenever you look on it, my Emerald Queen,’ he urged and spun a brilliant cut emerald towards her that looked oddly familiar.

It felt warm from his proximity and she marvelled at the weight and fineness of the stone even as she felt herself torn out of Ranulf’s time as if she was being wrenched from someone precious. She sighed, for yet another might have been, as she slipped one of the Meryngham Emeralds into the wisp of an evening purse still wrapped securely round her wrist and wondered where on earth she might land next.

English author Elizabeth Beacon is delighted to take part in Eve's surprising journey and had enormous fun throwing a new challenge at the poor girl. Eve promises to be a match for any rascally ancestor of Sebastian's she meets on her path to true love. Visit Elizabeth's website at: www.elizabethbeacon.co.uk

* * *

Elizabeth Beacon's Seaborne Trilogy continues with:

The Scarred Earl, Harlequin Historical, May 2013
The Black Sheep's Return, Harlequin Historical, August 2013

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green 13

noreply@blogger.com (Louise Allen) — Tue, 19 Mar 2013 05:00:00 +0000

‘Eve – no!’ But Sebastian was already fading as she stepped back, his outline blurring. The electric lights began to flicker like flames.
‘Yes. I must go back.’
‘You met someone.’ His voice sounded flat. ‘Do not risk it, Eve, however you feel for him –‘
‘I don’t know.’ The draft around her ankles bit like ice now, the bulbs had vanished and the only light was from candles. ‘I do not know! They are all part of you and you, of them. I don’t know what is right, what I want.’ Who I want. ‘I only know that I must go back…’

Her voice trailed away as he vanished. The room was the same, but furnished now. A fire blazed in the hearth and under her feet a thick carpet covered the ancient flagstones.
‘Oh, Sebastian.’ Eve shook herself, there was no time for regret or worry. She must find the emeralds and make her choice, whatever the consequences to herself. She had never been in this chamber before on her travels, but that did not mean she could dismiss it. The furniture was massive carved oak. The carpets and hangings rich and sophisticated, blue and white china stood on every flat surface. Over the mantle hung a gilt-framed portrait of a man with very familiar features beneath a curling wig.

‘Restoration,’ she murmured. It was a relief to be able to put her knowledge into practice. At least she knew when she was now. She would search every drawer, every cupboard, every box for the necklace.
She flung drawers open as she had seen on crime films, starting at the bottom as she rummaged rapidly through the contents of each, then abandoned them to open the great oak cupboard that stood in the corner. It was full of folded cloths.
Six were on the floor and she was shaking the seventh when the door opened.
‘Zounds! A thief!’ The man who strode in had his sword half out of its scabbard already. With alarm she realised her dagger was lying on top of the chest. Then he stopped, his darkly handsome face a mask of amazement. ‘My lady.’

It took her a moment to recognise the elegantly dressed man in red-heeled shoes, a cascade of lace at his throat as the battle-weary Cavalier. ‘Rafe Daubenay.’ And well, and prospering, the first of her men from the past. The way her heart leapt at the sight of him took her by surprise: she had expected to be focused on her quest to find the emeralds, not experiencing pangs of – of what? Attraction? Love? ‘You survived the war and exile – I am so very glad. What year is this?’ She tried to tell his age, late thirties perhaps, and all the more attractive for that. Concentrate, Eve!

‘The year of our Lord 1660, my lady,’ he said impatiently, reaching for her. ‘You have come back to me.’
‘No –’ she held him at arm’s length, no easy feat. ‘You must be married now, surely?’
‘I waited for you,’ he replied simply and, to her horror, knelt at her feet. ‘You have come back and I swear I will make you the happiest of women. As my wife – ’
‘I cannot.’ Suddenly she was certain it was not this man who was her destiny, courageous and loyal as he was. ‘I cannot be yours. I came back to try and find the emeralds, they are lost.’

Rafe stood, his face grim. ‘Then you shall see them, but you cannot take them. Come with me.’ He opened a door in the far wall and Eve followed him. Under the window stood a great iron-bound chest that yielded to a key he pulled from his coat.
‘Here, they are quite safe.’ The small jewel box he lifted out opened to his impatient, beringed fingers. It was quite empty.

‘The devil!’ He had gone white to the lips.
Eve backed away, the familiar sense of disorientation beginning to swirl through her. They were not here, in 1660. Did that mean they were lost in time before this date? Or had they vanished from everywhere at the moment they had gone from her neck?

‘One last kiss, sweeting,’ Rafe said, his voice husky. He caught her to him, and she reached up to pull him close, press her lips to his in something like desperation.
‘I will hold you here,’ he murmured into her hair.

‘Rafe, if you love me, let me go.’ Eve pulled herself free. ‘Find a lady worthy of you and raise children together, safeguard the future. But I must go, I have no choice.’
The dagger… it was in the other room. Did it matter? Somehow she knew it must. Eve turned and ran for the door, her feet stumbling, as the mist began to rise and swirl. Could she get there in time?

Louise Allen

Louise Allen is the author of more than forty historical romances and two books of walks through historic London.
Find out more at www.louiseallenregency.co.uk. Louise blogs here and at http://janeaustenslondon.com

January: Forbidden Jewel of India Harlequin & Mills & Boon
April: Scandal in the Regency Ballroom Mills & Boon
May: Tarnished Amongst the Ton Harlequin & Mills & Boon
July: Walking Jane Austen's London Shire Publications

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green 12

noreply@blogger.com (Melinda Hammond/Sarah Mallory) — Mon, 18 Mar 2013 00:30:00 +0000

TWELVE

Eve stretched out her hand, but even as she touched the dagger the ground opened beneath her and she was falling, falling into darkness. She screamed, tensing herself ready for the jolt when she hit the ground.

But there was no jolt. She was slumped on the floor, leaning against a solid wall. Opening her eyes, she saw she was back in the bedroom corridor. She looked at the dim wall lights. Electric lights. She closed her eyes. She was back. Had she ever been away? Maybe she had been hallucinating. She had immersed herself in other people's history for so long, it was perfectly possible that she had imagined everything. Then she realised that she was clutching a dagger in her hand. That couldn't be imagination. Her free hand crept to her neck. The emeralds had gone.

'Eve! Thank God, I have been looking everywhere for you.' Sebastian's voice cut through the fog of fear that was enveloping her and she struggled to her feet, turning to him thankfully. 'What the hell has happened to you, your dress is filthy. Have you been outside…' His voice trailed off as he spotted the dagger in her hand. 'Where did you get that?' When he raised his eyes again they were hard, and he was frowning. 'I'd rather you asked before you start removing artefacts.'

'I – I didn't.'

He took the dagger from her, saying quietly, 'Let's put it back, shall we?'

What could she say? How could she explain what had happened to her? Miserably she followed him through the corridors, away from the party and into a much older part of the castle. He opened the door of the muniments room. When the lights flickered on she could see that the walls were covered with shields and weapons, pikes, swords and halberds fixed high up out of harm's way. Suits of armour stood to attention between glass cases displaying the evidence of the Daubenays' bloody past. Duelling pistols and flintlock rifles jostled for position with wheel-lock guns in one cabinet while in another a huge broadsword was flanked by sabres, rapiers and even a claymore. Sebastian was heading for a large cabinet that held nothing but wicked looking knives.

'That's funny.' He stopped, his eyes moving from the dagger in his hand to the cabinet, where an identical weapon lay peacefully on its mount. 'So you didn't take it from here.'

'No. He – he gave it to me.' Eve's voice was strained. 'Richard Daubenay.'

Sebastian turned to her, a look she could not interpret in his blue eyes. She knew it sounded crazy and she had no idea if he would believe her. But there was worse to come. She had to tell him.

'And I have…lost…the emeralds.'

Sebastian stared at her, his face pale. Tears burned her throat when he turned away from her.

'You'd better go. I wish I'd never brought you here.'

His quiet words sliced into her heart. He might as well have pushed that dagger between her ribs. She looked at his broad back in its immaculate evening jacket, a solid, immoveable wall of black. She swallowed.

'Y-you want me to leave?'

He swung round.

'No, I don't want you to leave, but you must. It isn't safe for you to be mixed up in this.'

'In what?'

'I – I don't know.' He raked his fingers through his hair. 'I have grown up with all the family legends, so of course I've heard about the Lady in Green but I never believed any of it. Until tonight, when I couldn't find you, then you reappear, looking as if you've been –' He broke off, his jaw working as if he was struggling for control. 'The legend says the lady must make the ultimate sacrifice to secure the fortunes of the Daubenays.' He looked at the dagger in his hand. 'This is too dangerous for you, Eve. You should go. Now, while you still can. I'll get one of the staff to drive you back to London.'

'But what about you?'

'I can't leave. This is my home, my heritage. I must face whatever is coming.'

What she saw in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat. A thousand years of responsibility. The Daubenays had fought and struggled through the centuries to reach this point and Sebastian would not turn away from what he saw as his duty.

Eve had drawn up family trees, traced forgotten ancestors, pieced together other people's history but always as an observer. This was different. It was very real – and very frightening.

'Sebastian.' She took his hand. 'We must find those emeralds – '

'Damn the emeralds. Your safety is far more precious than any stones. You have to get away from here.'

He pulled her close, cupping her chin with one hand and tilting it up so that he could kiss her.

A long, lingering, never-to-be-forgotten kiss that reached into her very soul. He was saying goodbye, sacrificing his own happiness and possibly his inheritance to keep her safe.

Eve felt bereft when at last he released her. This was the end. He would walk her to the outer door and hand her over to a servant, who would drive her away from Meryngham forever. She would be safe, but she would never see Sebastian again.

She squared her shoulders and looked him in the eye.

'I'm not leaving you. If I am the Lady in Green then I am as much a part of this as any Daubenay.'

'Eve – '

'I 've made up my mind. I am going to find those emeralds.' She reached out and took the dagger from his hand, saying with a grim little smile, 'Your ancestors are a rough lot, Sebastian. I might need this before I've finished!'

Sarah Mallory
author of historical romantic adventures!
winner of the RoNA Rose Award 2012 & 2013
Beneath the Major's Scars (RoNA Rose winner 2013) - Harlequin Mills & Boon Dec 2012
Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager Harlequin Mills & Boon Jan 2013

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green, Chapter Eleven

noreply@blogger.com (Barbara Monajem) — Fri, 15 Mar 2013 02:00:00 +0000

by Barbara Monajem

The stairs went on and on. The night grew darker and the staircase narrower, and suddenly there was no balustrade, no protection from a perilous drop. Eve fell to her knees, assailed by vertigo. She shivered, wishing this was all a dream, knowing it was not.

Ahead of her loomed a heavy wooden door, slightly ajar. She crawled up the last few stairs and stood, repulsed by the odors of this place. Smoke and sweat, dirt and rodents, blood…blood?

Behind the door, a woman shrieked. ‘No, my lord! The vision changed right before my eyes, I swear!’

‘You’re no fortune teller, but a Saxon spy,’ a man growled. ‘No one toys with Richard d’Aubenay and lives to tell the tale.’

Horrified, Eve shoved open the door. The room was small, square, and dim, with only slits for windows. The man wore what looked like a padded tunic, with a jeweled dagger in his belt. He towered over a woman in rags, who scrambled among the rushes on the floor to gather some sticks. Chain mail lay across a wooden bench. Was that blood on the mail and on the man’s tunic and leggings? He must have just returned from battle. His dark hair was cropped short; his helmet with its nose guard lay on the floor. All at once Eve knew—he was a Norman knight. The first of the Daubenays!

‘I swear by the blood of our Lord!’ The woman wept as she picked up the sticks. ‘I saw a vision of a grand castle with gonfanons flying, and lords and ladies in costumes such as no man has ever seen. All was joy and dancing…and then, of a sudden, the castle was in ruins and the people gone, but for one lone man in the last crumbling tower, his dark head in his hands!’

‘Mordieu!’ Richard drew his dagger. ‘First you predict glory, and then disaster. Which is it? I care not which; I only seek to know whether to stay in this godforsaken land or return to my beloved Normandy. But mark my words, whether I stay or leave will make no difference to you barbarians. What King William has, he holds, and to those who wish him harm, he shows no mercy.’

She clutched the sticks to her chest. ‘I am no spy, but a poor, helpless woman.’

‘God’s teeth, stop groveling. Just tell me which vision was the truth!’

‘I don’t know,’ she wailed. ‘Both were—or could be true. Give me leave to try again.’ She knelt on a white cloth, her hands shaking as she spread the sticks. They had strange symbols on them—runes. This woman practiced cleromancy! She grabbed a stick at random, glanced at it, and squeezed her eyes shut, mumbling under her breath. Praying, no doubt, for something convincing to say.

So far, neither Richard nor the woman had noticed Eve, frozen by the door.

The woman’s eyes flew open. ‘It is because of the stones,’ she breathed. ‘Sparkling green stones...a necklace of surpassing splendor…’ She moaned. ‘The future was bright, but then the stones were gone, and all fell in ruins.’

Eve clapped a hand to her breast. She gasped. The necklace wasn’t there! ‘Oh, no!’

Richard turned, scowling but unsurprised. ‘I said I would call when I needed—’ He stopped, giving a long, low whistle. ‘You’re not like the usual girls they send to service me.’

Eve shuddered. He was doubtless a powerful, virile man, but she wasn’t here to, er, service him, regardless of what he assumed. But that danger was nothing to the catastrophe facing her. She had lost the Meryngham emeralds…and with them, the future as it was meant to be.

She had to find the necklace. Frantically, she searched her memory for the last time she’d felt them at her breast, the last time one of the Daubenay men had mentioned them. The Georgian gentleman hadn’t… Had the Regency bloke? The…

‘Who are you?’ Richard demanded.

‘The-the Lady in Green.’

He rolled his eyes, indicating her gown. ‘Obviously.’

He’d never heard of the Lady in Green, because the legend hadn’t yet begun. Perhaps it was supposed to begin here and now…or a century or two later; Eve didn’t know.

What a fool she was. She’d flitted from era to era, flirting with one Daubenay ancestor after another like a silly girl in a romantic dream. She’d been like a fan girl with Sebastian, too—so caught up in his wealth and status that she’d never realized the responsibility he bore now, and would bear when he became Earl of Meryngham. Centuries of noblesse oblige weighed upon her. She was pitifully unsuited for the role of his wife. She’d proven it by losing the emeralds—and destroying his future!

‘You’ll do,’ Richard said with a lecherous smile, ‘once I’ve taken care of this fraud.’ He raised his dagger.

The woman cowered and sobbed. ‘Have mercy, lord, have mercy!’

‘Don’t!’ Eve cried. ‘It’s not her fault, it’s mine. Her vision was true. I have seen the future, nearly a thousand years from now.’

Richard lowered his dagger and stared at her.

‘I was born there, lived there, and hoped to marry the heir to the Daubenays.’ Eve backed toward the door. Once again, she had to get away.

No, she didn’t. A Daubenay wouldn’t run. She would stand her ground. ‘The future is—was truly wondrous, until I lost the emeralds—the green stones of which she speaks. Spare her, please. I’ll find the emeralds and return, and you’ll see that what I say is true.’

His brows rose. Suddenly eager, he said, ‘A quest?’

She nodded, fear and determination battling within her.

Richard grinned. ‘A pity you cannot wed this d’Aubenay, but my descendant will be fortunate to win you.’ He turned the dagger and proffered the hilt to Eve. ‘Take this as my token, and may God be with you.’

~~~~~

Come back Monday as Eve embarks on her quest!

Barbara Monajem is the author of the May Day Mischief duet of Regency novellas, which will be released in April and May.

The Magic of His Touch (May Day Mischief, Book 1)

England, 1804

Tired of being paraded before every eligible bachelor, Peony Whistleby decides it's time to find her true love—through the ancient custom of rolling naked in the dew on May Day morning. But the magic goes awry when she is caught in the act—and by an entirely unsuitable man. And yet, the way his eyes linger upon her flesh ignites a sensual craving that can only be satisfied by his touch…

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green ~ Chapter Ten

noreply@blogger.com (Ann Lethbridge) — Thu, 14 Mar 2013 01:00:00 +0000

by Ann Lethbridge

Chapter 10

And hesitated at the strange noises on the other side. A soft sobbing moan of pain.

Someone hurt. She flung open the door and stepped...outside. The scent of lavender and rosemary filled the air. Moonlight and the faint flickering light of flambeaux high above lit a statue of Venus in the centre of a formal garden.
The rapid click of heels on stone and the scrape of metal across metal drew her gaze to two shadowy figures circling each other. Men, their shirts gleaming white, and the blades in their hands a wicked flash of death. With a supple twist of his wrist the larger of the two had the point of his blade at the other’s throat, a welling drop of blood trickling down the white exposed flesh.
The loser went to his knee. ‘Grant mercy,’ he whined. ‘For God’s sake.’
Eve stepped from the shadows. ‘You will grant him the mercy he asks.’
The big man, so broad-shouldered and lithe, so like her Sebastian as the light caught his expression of wide-eyed shock, lifted his blade clear.
‘Who am I to deny the Lady’s request?’ His voice was deep, dark and delicious. And he was huge, and not just because of his shoes. Who would think a man could look so deliciously masculine in diamond studded high heels.
And he wasn’t the slightest bit out of breath. Unlike his opponent who, gasping like a stranded fish, scuttled to grab his jacket from a stone bench and fled in the blink of an eye.
‘You might have killed him,’ Eve said crossly. ‘And for what?’
‘For your honour, dear Lady. And mine. But I see you do not approve.’ He went down on one knee, the hilt of his small sword proffered across his forearm, his head bent, revealing the queue of his thick curling long dark hair. ‘Take this blade and with it this unworthy life. For without your esteem, what is left to me?’
Her insides clenched at his abasement before her. Her knees went all wobbly like a colt’s. Oh boy, these early Georgian men sure had sexy ways of putting things. She pulled herself together. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
He laughed, a deep rich sound in the velvet warmth of the night, and sprang to his feet, sheathing his sword as he did so. ‘Such a practical Lady in Green. Griffon Daubeny, àa votre service.’ He bowed with an elegant flourish. ‘Then you will grant me a kiss instead.’
Quick as lightning, he pulled her into the shadows and encircled her in his arms. The heat of his body warmed her, as did her instant response to his wonderful wooing lips on her mouth.
The man certainly knew how to kiss a girl senseless. And the soft velvet of his snug-fitting breaches hid none of his response to the pressure of her belly against his hips. Oh my! He really was a big man.
They broke apart, and this time he was breathing as hard as she. ‘Have I made you mine?’ he asked wistfully gazing down at her.
Music floated down from an open window leading out to a stone balcony.
The ball. Sebastian. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘So sorry.’ And dashed for the curving stone stairs leading up....

Ann Lethbridge loves Regency Romances and that is what she writes, but recently she and her characters have traveled back in time as they have in this round robin. Her next short story Undone is a Time Travel where her 21 ^st century heroine dreams her way to the seventeenth century and A Highlander in her Bed. For more information about Ann and her books go to: annlethbridge.com

Lady in Green: Chapter Nine

noreply@blogger.com (Cheryl St.John) — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 06:30:00 +0000

There was nothing beneath her. Had she and Tristan been killed in that explosion? She felt no pain, but the sensation of falling alarmed her, and she grasped for something to break her fall. Was this what death felt like? Eve pitched into a black void, toward the sound of churning water. A surprisingly cold spray misted her skin. The frantic beating of her heart frightened her. Would she never get back to Sebastian—to the right Sebastian?

Strong arms banded her waist and hauled her back against a rock-hard body. Her feet touched something solid—wood from the sound of it. The fragrant scent of tobacco tickled her senses. ‘Wait a minute there. Things can’t be all that bad. The bottom of the muddy Missouri is no proper resting place for a pretty little lady like yourself.’

Her skin was warm and moist from the sultry night air. Laughter and the tinny sound of an old-time piano reached her. Hundreds of stars dotted the expanse of sky. The mist cleared and the moon shot sparks off the river.

‘I would remember if I’d seen you before.’ Her rescuer’s breath at her ear elicited goose bumps along her arms and shoulders. ‘You smell good.’ She wanted to turn into his safe embrace and find comfort, but this wasn’t her Sebastian either.

She pulled from his hold, but he reached for her arm as the steady lethargic movement of the boat made her lightheaded and she swayed on her feet. Boat?

‘Making decisions about your fate is never wise when you’ve had too much to drink. If you’d pitched headfirst into my paddlewheel, the stars wouldn’t shine quite so brightly this night.’

‘I haven’t been—well I had a glass of champagne—but I’m not drunk. And I wasn’t throwing myself from the….’ She glanced aside. ‘From wherever I am.’ The man stood tall and broad-shouldered in the moonlight, his rakish raven’s wing hair gleaming. He wore a three-piece suit with a green brocade vest. A gold watch chain glistened. Her heart was getting a workout this night.

‘Your accent tells me you’re not from here.’ His was more American than English. ‘It isn’t safe for you to wear those, you know.’ He reached to trace the line of the emerald necklace with a long finger. Her skin burned where his fingertip left a trail. ‘There’s no accounting for the thieves and scoundrels aboard.’

She brought a hand up to cover the necklace from his attention, and instead of the gems, he now stroked her skin. She would never admit she liked his touch. ‘Including you?’

One side of his mouth inched up into a wicked grin. ‘Are you a gambler?’

She could never again face Sebastian if the emeralds were stolen. She took a wary step back. This new situation raised her concern to a distressing level. What if she never found her way back and was trapped in another time and place forever? ‘Where are we, precisely?’

He glanced aside as though he could see the bank in the distance. ‘Nearing St. Louis I should think.’

Her grasp of geography wasn’t half bad, and she’d had a particular fascination for American history in her teens. This could only be Sebastian’s infamous great uncle who’d travelled to America to make his fortune during the Civil War. ‘Carson Daubenay,’ she said with conviction.

He pulled a long slender cigar from inside his jacket and struck a match against a silver case. The scent wafted on the humid air, and fragrant smoke curled upward. ‘You have me at a disadvantage. Who are you?’

This man had been a blockade runner, smuggling food and medicine to the northern troops. According to the tales, he’d become a legendary hero in his new country and later operated a number of riverboat casinos. His reputation was that of a rogue. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

He took her hand and caressed her fingers again. A tingle ran up her arm. ‘Don’t sell me short.’

She took a deep breath and was sure his attention focused at her bodice. ‘Does the Lady in Green mean anything to you?’

His expression was clearly defined in the moonlight as his brows drew down into a scowl. His grip on her fingers tightened. ‘Who sent you, and how do you know about the Lady in Green?’

Unlike the others, who’d assumed her to be the woman of the legend, this man was suspicious. ‘My name is Eve.’

‘We’ll see if a night locked in my cabin doesn’t loosen your tongue.’ He moved forward.

Eve tugged her hand away and bolted. This was the worst predicament yet! How had she landed here, and where was Meryngham Castle? Blindly, she ran past open doors which revealed gaily dressed men and women conversing and gambling, along a narrow deck with a rail until she came to a set of stairs. Down she ran, Carson Daubenay on her heels, until she reached a dim corridor lit only by flickering gas lamps. Numerous doors offered unknown choices. Where were those buffalo horns?

Eve didn’t pause. She grasped a knob and turned.

* * *

Cheryl St.John is the author of nearly fifty books. Her most recent releases are available as ebooks in most digital formats.

In this tale of hope and love, too-tall spinster Thea Coulson wants to be a mother to a child who arrives in Nebraska on an orphan train. When Booker Hayes shows up to take his niece, a marriage of convenience suits them both. Thea’s nights are filled with dreams of the tall, dark army major, but she guards her heart. Booker’s first taste of home and hearth has him longing for more, but first he must win the trust of his niece..and the heart of the sun-kissed farmer's daughter.

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green, Chapter 8

noreply@blogger.com (Marguerite Kaye) — Tue, 12 Mar 2013 08:00:00 +0000

by Marguerite Kaye

All she had to do was keep going down the stairs to find the Great Hall and Sebastian. There were buffalo horns over the doorway, Eve reminded herself, impossible to miss. No way was she opening another door. Six gorgeous men from six periods of history might be someone else’s idea of bliss, but all she wanted was a familiar pair of arms around her that belonged to a man very much alive in the Twenty-first century. Real, not fantasy.

The stairway narrowed. And steepened. It grew darker. It felt damp. There was a smell of earth and – actually, she wondered if maybe the drains needed seeing to. Perhaps there had been a moat here at one time? As she reached the foot of the stairs, her heel sank into the ground with a soft squelching sound. What was that smell? A sharp crack overhead, and a streak of light made her jump. A starburst, beautifully bright and painfully vivid against the midnight blue of the night sky. Fireworks? Wait a minute, night sky?

Oh no! Yanking her heel from what appeared to be a mud floor, Eve staggered and found that she could actually touch the walls of the corridor on both sides. Except they weren’t walls, unless the walls had been stripped of paper and plaster. She could feel wood strapping. And – more mud? Another firework exploded overhead, singing through the air and landing with a heavy crump which shook the corridor. Her stomach tightened into a knot of fear. Not a firework. And this was not a corridor. Panic stricken, she began to run, heading for the tiny flicker of light she could see at a turn in the trench, for she knew now, with sickening clarity, that that is what it was. Another shell burst, and another. They were no longer beautiful but terrifying.

The light seeped from under a ramshackle wooden door. Panting, clammy with fear, Eve burst into the tiny room beyond. A narrow wooden bunk. Candlelight. An old-fashioned gramophone with one of those big speakers shaped like a horn. The music was melancholy. Schubert. The man sitting at the makeshift desk was staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

His hair was short-cropped, black, standing up in little spikes, as if he had been running his hands through it. His eyes were a very familiar shade of blue. He had the same aristocratic good looks as her Sebastian, but this man wore them wearily. Tiredness furrowed his brow. A small scar like a crescent moon was carved into his cheek. Sadness clung to him.

‘You came,’ he said softly, putting down his pen and pushing back the ladder back chair which had seen better days. His smile, crooked, tender and tragic, made Eve clutch her hands to her breast. ‘It’s alright, I’m not afraid,’ he said, ‘I’ve been expecting you. Major Tristan Daubenay at your service.’

Eve pushed herself away from the door and made her way carefully towards him. It was only a few steps, but the rhythmic thud of the bombardment made the trench floor vibrate. A tiny fire burned in what looked like an old tin drum. ‘How did you know to expect me?’ she asked wonderingly, holding her fingers out to the welcome warmth of the smouldering embers.

‘I lead the men over the top again tomorrow. They tell us that this will be the final push.’ He smiled his weary, crooked smile again. ‘They’ve been telling us that for two years now. Marne, Ypres twice, Loos, and now tomorrow the Somme. It’s a well-kept secret, but we officers have a life-expectancy of about six weeks these days. The odds are well and truly stacked against me. There are many stories of soldiers seeing an angel just before a battle. Some say it signifies death, others good luck. It never occurred to me that my angel would take the form of the fabled Lady in Green. You are every bit as beautiful as the family legend claims.’

His fingers traced the outline of the emeralds at her throat. His touch was gentle, his hands cool on her skin. He smelt of old-fashioned soap. There was a tiny droplet of blood on his chin where he had cut himself with his razor. Unthinking, she blotted it with her thumb. Her heart contracted, for she knew he was right. The Somme had been a bloodbath. What kind of man made sure he was clean-shaven to face almost certain death?

His fingers feathered along her shoulder, down the sweep of her spine, his hands coming to rest on the curve of her bottom, urging her closer. ‘The Lady in Green,’ he said wonderingly. ‘Three times, she visits her one true love, but I fear you will only visit me once.’

He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek. He had a beautiful mouth. His smile was no longer crooked but sensual. His thumbs caressed her in shivering circles. ‘Stay with me, my angel’ he whispered, ‘just for tonight. If I can spend my last night on earth in your arms, I can face tomorrow without fear or regret.’

She opened her mouth to speak. She knew she should leave. Then his lips descended on hers, velvet-soft. She closed her eyes and surrendered to the sweetness of his kiss. Lost in his embrace, Eve didn’t hear the warning screech as the shell exploded in the bunker.

MARGUERITE KAYE

His Lady in Green: Chapter 7

noreply@blogger.com (Julia Justiss) — Mon, 11 Mar 2013 06:00:00 +0000

Eve walked quickly down the hallway, trembling like the flickering candles in the sconces. Had the corridor been candle-lit when she went to meet Sebastian for dinner? Surely it must have been, and she had simply not noticed.

She was a sensible, modern, scientific woman. The idea that she might be traveling through time, encountering Sebastian’s distant ancestors in the rooms she’d stumbled into was simply absurd. Something in the wine she’d consumed at dinner had mingled with the scent of candle wax, herbs and fireplace smoke to addle her senses.

She saw a stairway looming ahead and her pulses leapt. This must lead back to Great Hall, back to normalcy and Sebastian. How she longed for his kiss to blot out the memory of those impossible encounters, for the thrilling heat of his possessive arm wrapped around her, reassuring her she was firmly rooted in the present, and the only man with a claim upon her was him!

Approaching the stairway at a rapid a pace, she suddenly realized a man was mounting the stairs, coming toward her. A snowy white tie showed above his black dinner jacket and his jet black hair gleamed in the candlelight, which outlined against the darkness a dear familiar profile. Her heart contracted with joy and relief.

‘Sebastian!’ she cried, hurrying toward him. ‘I’m so sorry to have been absent so long! Silly me, I’m afraid I got lost . Thank you for coming to find me!’

In her haste to reach him, Eve caught the heel of her stiletto on the carpet and nearly fell. Strong arms reached out to catch her, their grip familiar, reassuring. Frantic, needy, she wrapped her arms around him and lifted her head, inviting his kiss.

Instantly, Sebastian crushed her against him and took her mouth, his kiss ferociously possessive. Hot need coursing through her, she opened to him.

Maybe it wasn’t too late to return to her room, she thought muzzily. She’d give herself up to the pleasure he offered, reassure herself she was with the man she wanted. The man who loved her.

He brought his mouth to her bare shoulders, and Eve sighed, intoxicated by his touch. ‘Here I’d thought you were just a myth,’ he murmured against her skin. ‘I’m thrilled to be proven wrong, my delectable Lady in Green.’

As the meaning of his words penetrated her sensual haze, Eve’s eyes flew open. ‘Sebastian?’ she gasped. To her dismay, she realized that below the familiar face and blazing blue eyes, the white tie she’d seen peeking out above the collar of the black dinner jacket wasn’t a tie at all—but the beginning folds of an intricately-tied cravat. Sleek dark hair waved over his forehead in what Eve recognized, having studied hundreds of Regency portraits, to be a perfect Brutus cut.

Panicked, she pushed him away. ‘You’re not my Sebastian!’

The gentleman gave her a beguiling smile that must have disarmed many a maiden of her virtue. ‘I’d like to be. I never expected to encounter you, but now, I hope never to let you go.’

‘But you must!’ she wailed. How could she make him understand something she didn’t understand herself? ‘I …don’t belong here.’

‘You could,’ he coaxed. ‘Let me make you want to.’ He caught her hand, and the power of his touch zinged through her. ‘Do you not feel it, the force that pulses between us? I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but you make me believe it. Never putting any credence in the legend of the Lady in Green, how could I imagine someone invited to my mother’s ball would be the breath-taking image of that famous lady? Give me your hand and let me lead you in. Though I don’t yet know your name, I know I want you by my side.’

‘No, it’s too soon. Or too l-late,’ Eve stammered. ‘You aren’t the right man. You cannot be!’

More frantic than ever, Eve tore herself from his grasp and ran down the stairs.

--Julia Justiss

His Lady In Green: Chapter Six

noreply@blogger.com (Georgina Devon) — Fri, 08 Mar 2013 00:31:00 +0000

CHAPTER SIX

The door clicked shut behind Eve. Tension gathered between her shoulder blades as she peered into the dark hallway. Nothing had changed. Nothing. Doors ranged on both sides.

Was she caught in some time loop, like a computer loop, ever repeating? Only she hadn’t returned to any one period yet, including her own. A shudder ran the length of her spine and she wished it was from the cold penetrating the thin layers of her silk gown, but knew better. She wasn’t just lost in the castle, she was lost in time.

And what about Sebastian? Would she ever find him again? She had to. They weren’t engaged, but she had begun to hope he would ask her at the ball. He’d given her the emeralds to wear because they matched her gown. A man didn’t put his family heirlooms on the neck of a woman he did not intend to marry. She had to get back to him.

New determination firmed her steps as she moved to a new door. She took a deep breath and pushed. The other rooms had been lit by fire or candles. This one had nothing.

She pulled the handle only the door wouldn’t budge, as though she had to go through. But then it would likely shut and refuse to open as had the others – until she met and talked with the man inside.

She inched inside and wished she had something besides the silk of her skirt to wipe the dampness beginning on her palms. This room was dank and cold. No carpet muffled the click of her stilettos on the stone floor. Goosebumps lifted the hairs on her arms.

A hand clamped around her mouth, an arm around her shoulders. The door shut with a barely audible snick.

Fear knifed through Eve. She twisted and struggled, her chest heaving as she fought for freedom and breath.

‘Do nae say a word and I will take my hand from your mouth. If you so much as gasp, I will see that you spend the rest of my time here gagged and bound.’

His voice was deep and harsh. His tone enforced the hardness of his chest against her back. This man meant what he said. She nodded, her mouth moving across his rough palm.

Slowly, as though not trusting her nod, he removed his hand. She gulped in air. He smelled of heather and the Scottish moors. Wild and untamed.

‘How did you find me?’ His whisper was barely audible, but his warm breath moved against the sensitive skin of her ear like a caress.

‘Release me completely and I’ll tell you.’ She played a dangerous game, emphasized by the tightening of his hold and the clenching of his muscles. Plastered to him, she felt every shift he made. His heat seared her flesh even through the clothing separating them.

A low chuckle rumbled in chest. ‘Why would I do that? I already hold you captive. If you have betrayed me, I will bargain for my life with yours.’

‘Your life for mine? Who are you?’

‘A man fleein’ his country to follow his king.’ Bitterness tinged every word.

One of the wars for the throne. ‘Which king do you follow? Charles or James or maybe Stephen?’

His grip tightened. ‘There is only one king over the water.’

‘Ah, Bonnie Prince Charlie and James II.’ It must be after Culloden or possibly before.

‘Yes.’ His hand ran down her breast to her waist. ‘What are you wearing?’

Her flesh tingled from his touch. ‘Please, I’m from another time. The future. I need to return to Sebastian.’

He turned her. ‘I cannae see you, but I’m thinking you are the Lady in Green.’ His fingers shifted to her neck and ran over the necklace. ‘The emeralds.’ He stepped back. ‘At least I will be visited once before I leave my title and lands behind.’

She licked dry lips. ‘I didn’t know the Daubenays fought for the Stuarts.’

A sigh sifted between them. ‘So they succeeded. My brother will inherit and history will say I died at sea.’

She sensed him move. His lips touched her face, moved to her mouth. He deepened the kiss until she leaned against him grateful for his support. Too soon, he stopped. He pushed her away.

‘Thank you, Lady in Green. I shall remember your visit and your kiss until I die.’ He moved, taking her with him.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘’Tis time for you to leave and for me to catch a fishing boat to France. I hope we meet again, but if not, I hope you find your true love as the legend says.’

‘But…but…’

The door opened and Eve found herself in the hall. Chills shook her. Another one of Sebastian’s male relatives. But no Sebastian.

Fear and apprehension welled up inside her as she swiped away a tear. She had to find the right door. Had to…

I hope you're enjoying this read as much as we enjoyed bringing it to you...Georgina Devon

Lost in TIme: His Lady in Green, Chapter Five

noreply@blogger.com (Barbara Monajem) — Thu, 07 Mar 2013 02:00:00 +0000

by Elaine Golden

Well, this was just ridiculous. Impossible. Delusional.

Eve stood in the hallway, trembling. Stuck in this short corridor with no way out but the neat row of doors on either side. She didn't recall entering through one, but the sad fact remained that she could only exit that way. Thrice she had attempted to find the staircase, and each time she had ended up... somewhere else. With a stranger.

‘Sebastian?’ she called in a voice that warbled.

A thud and a raised voice that sounded just like him drew her attention to the third door, and she rushed forward, wrenched it open, and stepped across the threshold. ‘Sebastian!’

The glow of an oil lamp bathed the bedroom in warm golden light, revealing yet another bedroom. A high tester bed filled one side of the room and a luxurious rose velvet fainting couch sprawled in front of the gallery of windows that glowed like black jet in the moonlight.

The low, mournful note of a violin swallowed the room like a living thing, enfolding her in a rich melody. But it was the sight of the tall man that drew her up short. Dressed in tan slacks and a burgundy smoking jacket, he cradled the whiskey-colored instrument like a cherished infant, chin tucked into the rest and horsehair bow carefully coaxing the sound from the spruce-topped instrument.

When he paused and looked up, her heart wrenched at the loss of that incredible sound. Instead, the tinny strains of an old-fashioned phonograph filled the room. He had been playing along with the muffled echo of a full orchestra captured on the wax cylinder record.

‘You’re not Sebastian.’

‘Indeed not, miss.’ He actually clicked his heels and bowed slightly. ‘I am Meryngham, of course. And you are…?’

‘Of course you are. Which one?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She sighed and rubbed her brow to ease the beginnings of a headache. ‘I’m Eve Wells, sir. My apologies for the interruption. I’ll just be going—’

‘Wait a moment.’ He set aside his instrument and studied her with narrowed eyes that reminded her too much of Sebastian. ‘How did you get into my home? It’s the servants’ half-day, so who let you in?’

‘I didn’t… that is to say, I… does ‘Lady in Green’ mean anything to you?’ It felt foolish to say it, to play along with the fantasy. And each of the other men had reacted… possessive when they thought it of her. Would he? She looked at his full lips, now curling into a slight smile, and wondered how he would taste.

Eve placed one foot behind the other until she bumped into the closed door and fumbled for the crystal doorknob. ‘Oh, never mind. It’s not worth the bother.’

‘Don’t be frightened, dame en vert. I’m Thomas, the 12th Earl. I know who you are, and I won’t try to detain you.’ He moved toward her slowly as one would approach a skittish animal. ‘Just promise to visit again, sometime?’

‘Why should I do such a thing?’

He reached out and clasped her hand, the tip of one finger gently stroking the delicate skin of her inner wrist. Soothing.

Enticing.

‘How else can you make your choice?’ He kissed her fingertips, his breath a warm caress. The collar of his shirt was loose under the robe and parted, revealing the tanned pulse point at the base of his throat.

The trembling began again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. How could she react like this? She had been so certain of Sebastian, but now… now she was tempted by a series of impossibly handsome strangers. This was madness.

The door latch gave way and Eve pulled her hand from his, but hesitated once again. ‘Won’t that mean I’d have to stay?’

‘No, my dear. Not until the third visit, that’s your choice.’

‘Well, then.’ Could she really return? Did she want to? ‘Perhaps.’

More confused than ever, Eve slipped back out into the hallway and pulled the door firmly behind her.

Who will Eve meet next? Come back tomorrow for Chapter Six.

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green - Chapter 4

noreply@blogger.com (Terri Brisbin) — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 04:00:00 +0000

By Terri Brisbin

Eve turned left and right trying to get her bearings. The door to the stairway and down to the Great Hall was here, she had only to find it to find Sebastian. Counting her steps back, she gazed at the next door as though trying to divine if it was the one. Turning the knob, she pushed it open.

‘Of all the ways I planned to lay claim to my rightful inheritance,’ the deep voice said with a tinge of Highland burr, ‘I never thought it would be by your visit, Milady in Green.’

Without thought, her hand touched the emeralds at her neck as she shook her head. Eve spun around to find a ruggedly handsome man staring at her. Auburn highlights gleamed in the light from the fire next to him. As tall as Sebastian, but much more muscular, she thought of a warrior she’d seen in a movie set in the medieval Highlands.

But, this was the third time someone thought her some kind of vision or omen or ghost. The cool air chilling her bare skin made her aware she was truly alive, though perhaps having a dream. When he tilted his head in greeting and rose from the chair, the heat and the intensity in his gaze made her take a step back.

‘I do not understand,’ she said, glancing for the door through which she’d entered. ‘I was only trying to find for the Great Hall.’

‘Ah,’ he whispered, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips, ‘you have nothing to fear from me, Lady. Even if you appeared at my side before my cousin in the Great Hall, he, they would deny my claim to the title and castle Meryngham and all the noble Daubenay wealth.’

Eve searched her memories of the Daubenay family’s history and could not remember any Scottish claimants in the records she’d studied. But this man was very clearly Scottish.

‘Who are you?’ she finally asked, watching as he lifted his deep green gaze first to the emeralds nestled around her neck and then to her face.

‘I am Dougal MacKinnon of Glen Ayre,’ he said, now touching his mouth to the back of her hand. The heat of just that touch travelled up her body and made her body react with a sensual tremble. ‘The rightful heir to Meryngham.’

Eve pulled away, rubbing her hands on her now-chilled arms. ‘A Scot as heir to Meryngham?’ She shook her head and frowned. ‘What claim do you have?’

Dougal walked to the bed, the very large bed she had not noticed until now, and picked a length of plaid from it. He shook it out as he approached and then tossed it around her, gathering the edges in front. The warmth of it, and the warmth that pulsed through her at his nearness, spread until the deep chill left her. She thought him done, but he placed his hands on her shoulders and began rubbing her arms.

‘The best of all claims—that of blood. My father was heir before his death and I stood to inherit it as his son.’

‘And you did not?’ she asked. There were very few reasons why a male heir would not inherit, the most common being—

‘Aye, a bastard they say I am.’ It explained much, but not all. Curious, Eve stepped out of his grasp and waited for him to decry that status. But he did not. ‘My father visited his northern properties and fell in love with my mother. He knew his family would not accept her, but he claimed her in the old, Highland tradition. Handfasting made me legitimate.’ His voice grew rough then, anger infusing it with a somehow more-appealing deepness in tone. ‘No matter what these Sassenach dogs say.’

When he rose to his full height and crossed his arms over his wide, strong chest, she knew she did not want to be this man’s enemy. It was the fleeting expression of pain in his green eyes that made her heart want. . . to help him and more. Was he truly the heir? If she accompanied him to the Great Hall, would her presence confirm his claim? Could it be that easy?

‘Come,’ he said, stepping closer and offering his hand to her. ‘Shall we give it a try?’ Was he a mind-reader, too?

The warmth of his hand drew her in and the heat in his mouth as it touched, no, claimed hers offered her a strong invitation to remain here with him. Her heart already believed him and wanted to help him right the wrong dealt to him. . . .

But dare she?

Eve lifted her face from his and pulled from the possessive embrace to meet his gaze. She did not know what was going on here and now, but somewhere Sebastian waited for her. She took a step and then another back towards the door. He recognized her action, but did not try to stop her by force. He used his words instead.

‘The Lady in Green comes twice to those who do not deserve her, but a third time only to the man who can claim her heart and soul. Come back to me,’ he whispered, holding out that tempting hand once more to her. ‘Come back, Milady.’

‘Eve,’ she said. ‘My name is Eve.’ It mattered somehow to her that he know she was not some kind of legend, but a woman of flesh and blood, heart and soul.

‘Oh, aye, Eve,’ he said as a wicked, inviting smile lifted the edge of the mouth she’d just kissed. ‘Come back to me, Eve.’

Eve turned and raced to the door, out of breath from the complete surrender her body and soul were urging. Lifting the latch on the heavy, wooden door, she tugged it open and stumbled into the corridor. The door slammed behind her, leaving her. . . .

Ah....Eve discovered a sexy Scottish Highlander behind the door this time. What about you -- would you stay with Dougal MacKinnon or try to return to Sebastian? A difficult decision to make. . . Stop back tomorrow to find out Eve's next step in her journey through time!

Lady in Green: Chapter Three

noreply@blogger.com (Cheryl St.John) — Tue, 05 Mar 2013 06:00:00 +0000

CHAPTER THREE

Rafe the Cavalier must be a fantasy, but Eve’s senses told her he was real. High time she found Sebastian and forgot him then, so she reached for the next door handle and told herself the stairs must be on the other side this time.

‘Wrong again,’ she muttered, shaking her head to deny this new illusion.

Warmth and a mixture of sharp and sweet scents to keep moths, and worse, at bay drew her into a different world. For a second she took in rich colours and textures and a table overflowing with charts and papers, then a man with wicked blue eyes stepped towards her. Arrogant as sin and handsome as ten devils, his look ran hot promises over curves outlined by her expensively simple dress.

‘I am keen to get to the heart of things as any man, sweetheart, but you must be cold as charity dressed like that,’ he said with a smile that was half courtier and half pirate.

‘I’m quite warm,’ she said regally and it was true enough.

His loose shirt was undone and his sleek muscles and tanned skin invited touch. His crow black hair shone in the candlelight and one earring set with a matchless pearl should make him ridiculous. Eve decided if he was getting into a Shakespearian role he was far too good to need practise.

‘Take your shift off then, so I can see how perfect the Daubenay Emeralds look against only your silken skin, my lady,’ he invited huskily.

‘Certainly not, how dare you?’

‘Dare all to win all,’ he asserted with a shrug that spoke of a dangerous man who lived a dangerous life, and loved every minute of it.

‘So women must fall at your feet and the treasures of the Orient pour into your hands? No, Mr Daubenay, you’re not king of the world.’

‘How could I be when I serve great Gloriana? Our Queen made me Sir Ranulf of that name, so I am neither mister nor ingrate. Leave over railing at me like a wife and listen for us as we could be, Lady in Green. Can you hear the whisper of us two as lovers on the air as I do? I’ll make the stars a crown nigh bright enough to match your hair and furnish it with gems even nearer your eyes than these, my love.’

‘I’m not your love,’ she murmured half-heartedly, as if he wasn’t heady and sense stealing as too much champagne.

‘You could be,’ he said so seriously she believed him and shivered.

He carried her hand to her lips and she felt honed strength and the promise and demand of his mouth on her skin, as if he was trying to imprint her heart. Ranulf turned her hand palm up so his next kiss lay hot and potent there.

‘Stay, lady,’ he demanded and raised his head to stare into her dazzled eyes. ‘They say you haunt a man for life – stay and share mine instead.’

‘I can’t.’

Eve wondered if a modern woman and a Tudor adventurer could love even as she whispered her denial. Backing out of the room with her eyes on Sir Ranulf, she wondered how he could be so like and yet so unlike Sebastian. In the corridor again she faced the phalanx of closed doors in front her and felt a guilty thrill at the idea of meeting any rogue males waiting on the other side.

* * *

English author Elizabeth Beacon took the third part of Eve's surprising journey and had enormous fun throwing a new challenge at the poor girl. Eve promises to be a match for any rascally ancestor of Sebastian's she meets on her path to true love and took this one on with her usual courage and fine appreciation of a sexy hero. Visit Elizabeth's website at: www.elizabethbeacon.co.uk

Elizabeth Beacon's Seaborne Trilogy continues with:

The Scarred Earl, Harlequin Historical, May 2013
The Black Sheep's Return, Harlequin Historical, August 2013

His Lady In Green: Chapter Two

noreply@blogger.com (Louise Allen) — Mon, 04 Mar 2013 05:00:00 +0000

Even in candlelight this was obviously a bedchamber, not a stairwell. Eve turned and found the door had closed silently behind her. Mist swirled. Strange, it must have been wood smoke drifting from the open fire.

Eve tugged at the handle. It stuck. ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ She fought the impulse to hammer on the heavy panels: there would be a phone by the bed, just as there was in her room, she’d ring down and someone would come. She walked across the bare boards into the wash of firelight. ‘Aagh!’

‘I am sorry, Mistress. I startled you.’ The man who had been sprawled in one of the great oak chairs before the hearth stood, rising to a familiar six foot plus of broad-shouldered male.

‘Oh, Sebastian! You scared the living daylights out of me. Sebastian?‘

‘You mistake me for my brother, Mistress.’ The man bowed with a courtly elegance. ‘Rafe Daubenay, your servant.’

‘He did not tell me he had a brother.’ Surely this man was older, a little, than Sebastian. There was a honed edge to him that spoke of more than assiduous attendance at the gym. ‘Are you a soldier?’ It was a guess, but she could visualise him with a weapon in his hand. Then she realised that there was one at his side: a sword. A sword?

‘Of course I am a soldier.’ His mouth hardened. ‘And in the rightful army, that of our sovereign lord, the king. Sebastian skulks at home, dithering over which side to take when Charles needs every sword at his side. Especially now.’ The fierce anger in his voice ebbed and suddenly she saw he was beyond tired. Deep lines bracketed the familiar mouth, there were shadows under the blue eyes.
His hair was long, curling to his collar. His broad lace collar. Eve made herself focus on something other than his face. White, wide-sleeved shirt, soiled and ripped, buckskin beeches, high black boots. A re-enactor, of course. She pulled a deep breath down to her diaphragm. Honestly, you’ll be imagining ghosts next. She had surprised one of the family rehearsing for an English Civil War re-enactment, that was all. They got very deeply into character, she knew from a friend, an Anglo-Saxon warrior in a local group.

‘Which re-enactment group are you with?’ she asked and wished her heart would stop thumping quite so hard. Anyone would think something was wrong. But it is. The house smelled wrong – of beeswax, wood smoke, lavender. It sounded wrong, a deep silence, when before the faint music from the Great Hall had penetrated everywhere. The air was cool as though the central heating had been off for hours
‘Re-enactment?’ He seemed baffled.
‘Or perhaps you have been to a masquerade?’ Eve persisted, desperate now for a logical explanation. He was the perfect Cavalier. There was a plumed hat on the table, a coat with deep buttoned cuffs on the foot of the four-poster bed.

‘A masque?’ His laugh was harsh. ‘A slaughter… all too real.’ He swayed and Eve realised the stains on his sleeve were dried blood. ‘The bloody field of Naseby, the end of the kingdom if we cannot rally and fight on.’

‘You are hurt.’ She caught at his arm, solid and warm through the fine linen, and realised that she had half expected her hand to go right through. ‘You are not a ghost.’ She said it out loud and he stared as he fell back into the chair, pulling her down to kneel by his side. She could not drag her eyes from that intense blue stare.

‘No, I am not. But you are, I think. I never believed in the Lady in Green before. They say every heir sees her, that she wears the Meryngham emeralds.’ One long finger traced the necklace at her throat and Eve trembled, even as her mind reeled. Rafe is real? He had just fought at the battle of Naseby. Her mind scrabbled for the date. Sixteen forty… 1645.

His touch felt… right. She laid her hand on his knee to steady herself and felt the force of attraction lance through her. ‘I am real, as real as you.’

Rafe reached out and pulled her towards him. She smelt black powder, sweat, the metallic tang of blood, leather and horse. It was shockingly male. Eve swayed forwards.
‘They say she comes twice and that if there is a third time, she will stay. No-one knows if she ever has.’ His mouth found hers, arrogant, demanding. Then he lifted his head and said simply, ‘Stay. Stay with me now.’

‘Yes… No!’ The heat of him, the taste… This was insane, she was dreaming, she must be. Eve shot to her feet, backed away until her spine met the carved door panels with a painful reality. She wrenched at the handle and then she was in the corridor, dizzy, shaking. All the doors were closed. Which one had it been?

Louise Allen
Lousie Allen is the auhtor of more than forty historical romances.
Scandal in the Regency Ballroom -
Out in April in a special two-in-one edition - two of my favourite novels, both with heroines outside the world of the ton. In No Place for a Lady Bree Mallory helps run the family stage coach company – as did many real women in the late Georgian period – so when she attracts the attention of Nonesuch whip Max Dysart, Earl of Penrith, it can hardly be her eligibility for marriage that draws him to her!
Lily France is a very wealthy heiress with a fortune derived from trade and a family with humble origins. In Not Quie a Lady Lily, who has more money than taste, a love of shopping and no experience at all of not getting her own way, is determined to fulfil her late father’s dream that his grandsons would bear titles. What Lily needs is an impoverished nobleman. What impoverished nobleman Jack Lovell, Earl of Allerton needs is an investor for his mines, not to humble his pride by marrying money. When Lily proposes to him the sparks really begin to fly!

Lost in Time: His Lady in Green

noreply@blogger.com (Melinda Hammond/Sarah Mallory) — Fri, 01 Mar 2013 00:30:00 +0000

Following on from the success of Lady Ambleforth's Afternoon Adventure, the Harlequin Historical authors are writing another round robin story and the chapters will be published here over the next month.

Each day an author will write a chapter following on from the previous one, having never seen it before. No one knows where the story is going, or where it will end up.

This is a busman's holiday for the eleven authors involved. We all lock ourselves away in our private worlds to write our own books, creating a complete story from beginning to end. Here we are letting our imaginations fly as we each contribute two chapters to this story, never knowing where we will be going until we get there!

Our story is a time-travelling epic. We started with the premise of a magnificent castle, a priceless necklace and of course a brave and heroic lady. Oh, and heroes to die for (yes, dear reader that is heroes – it is not a typo).

Come with us on this adventure of a lifetime – or, maybe several lifetimes…………………..

CHAPTER ONE

Eve stared at her reflection. She could hardly believe that she, little Eve Wells, engineer's daughter, coalminer's granddaughter, was here in Meryngham Castle. With her golden hair piled up and in a new and elegant ball gown, she was about to attend the midsummer ball with Sebastian Richard Edward Daubenay, son and heir of the 14^th Earl of Meryngham. Also, she was pretty sure Sebastian was going to propose tonight – why else had he given her the Meryngham emeralds to wear?

They had met at a conference on research and preservation of Britain's major historical buildings. She had seen Sebastian coming towards her during a break, tall, dark and so very, very handsome. She looked up into his blue eyes and the world fell away. She shook so much that her cup rattled in its saucer and Sebastian reached out and took it from her, saying with his devastating smile, 'Here, let me take that before you drop it.'

That was six weeks ago and since then they had been together as much as their respective work would allow.

'Eve? You ready?' Sebastian came in, breath-taking in a dinner jacket as black as his raven hair. He gave a low whistle. 'Gorgeous. I knew it, those emeralds are a perfect match for your eyes, and your gown. Come and meet the parents before the party gets started. They're waiting for us in the great hall.'

He took her hand, smiling as he felt her hesitation.

'Nervous?’

'Of course. I am not in the habit of going to parties and meeting dukes and earls and the like – '

Sebastian laughed. 'No dukes, I promise you! Although there might be the odd viscount. Don't worry, they will all love you as I do.'

Eve’s heart did a somersault as he led her out of the room. Had he really said that? Did he really mean it? The thought thrilled her, but it was a little frightening, too.

Sebastian led her through a mind-numbing succession of passages. There was no time to admire the many portraits they passed, or even to ask about the unusual one of a man in full Highland dress. However, when they reached the great hall with its colourful tapestries and hunting trophies she did come to a stop.

'Buffalo? Buffalo, Sebastian?' She pointed to the horns displayed proudly between the more traditional antlers.

Sebastian glanced down at her, a smile quirking his mouth.

'One of my ancestors decided to try his luck in the Wild West. Come on, Ma and Pa are over there, by the door. I'll introduce you.'

The earl, an older version of Sebastian, kissed her cheek and the countess held out her hand.

'Eve, isn't it? Welcome, my dear. Sebastian tells me you are a genealogist. There will be plenty to interest you here. The Daubenays go back to the Conquest, with all sorts of rakes and rogues in their history.' Lady Meryngham cast a laughing glance at her husband. 'That was the reason I married into the family.'

'Ah, but I made Eve promise to leave work behind for the weekend.' Sebastian put his arm around her and she relaxed, reassured by his presence.

She said, teasingly, 'I can't help taking a professional interest in your ancestors, Sebastian.'

His arm tightened. 'There is only one member of this family I want you to be interested in.'

His words, murmured in a voice as deep and rich as chocolate, sent a delicious shiver running through her.

It was a magical evening. Sebastian was obliged to socialise, of course, but he never left Eve alone for long and just before midnight he took her out onto the balcony.

'Happy?' He slid his arms around her.

'Oh yes.' When he was near she felt her world was complete, but – six weeks! Could it really be love, or was it merely that she felt like Cinderella, beguiled by his looks and his wealth - and the fact that he was to inherit this massive, wonderful castle? If only she could be sure…

'Good, because there's something I want – hell!' Sebastian's sexy murmur ended abruptly. 'Sorry, your shoulder strap is broken. I was sliding my finger beneath it when it just…came away.'

'That's strange, I made a point of checking the stitching because I didn't want to embarrass myself with a wardrobe malfunction! Never mind, I've a sewing kit in my room.'

'I'll show you the way, don't want you getting lost. This place has been rebuilt and expanded so much over the centuries there are places that even I know nothing about.' He whisked her back through the dancers. Minutes later they reached her room.

'Do you need any help?'

The look in his eye told her that if he stayed they would not see the end of the party. Tempting, but not allowed.

She shook her head.

'No, I will be fine now. You should go back to your guests.'

'As you sure you can you find your way?'

'Of course, I've done it several times already today.' She gave him a little push. 'Now go and do your duty. '

With a final, lingering kiss he left her and, smiling, she set to work mending her strap.

It was almost midnight when Eve left her room again. She must hurry. The passages looked different, somehow. Longer and darker. Why had she not noticed before that they were lit only by candles? Soon she had to admit that she was lost. Perhaps one of these doors would lead her to the stairs. Only one way to find out.

She grasped the handle of the first door and pushed…….

Regency Cross-dressing Female Swindler!

noreply@blogger.com (Louise Allen) — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 05:00:00 +0000

Have you ever read an historical romance where the heroine dresses as a boy - and were you dubious about whether she could ever have got away with it in real life?
Well, here's an example as reported in The Statesman Newspaper for August 1808 and what is incredible is that the woman in question managed it not just for a day or two but for long periods. Is it genuine or a Regency myth, a good story for the newspaper?

The lady appeared at Amabrie, Perthshire, Scotland, an area known for excellent shooting and fishing, dressed as a man and calling herself Captain Watson.. "He" put up at the inn and, with beds short, shared with the inn keeper's two sons. During the course of the summer Captain Watson proved very popular. "In horsemanship, in angling, in shooting, in jumping, in walking, in singing, and in dancing, the accomplished Watson excelled; but he never could be prevailed upon to show dexterity in swimming." The Captain was invited to balls and parties and credit was extended until he had run up debts of £300 - plus £100 advanced by his doting landlady to allow him to travel to Liverpool where, he explained, he would pass the winter with his guardians. He said that he was a Ward of Chancery, with large expectations but, for some reason, a promised bank draft had not reached him.
Watson visited the next summer, and the next - by which time there was growing disquiet about the amount he owed. Watson charmed the doubtors and was invited to a grand ball at Perth. But, "As Watson was walking the day after the ball with two gentlemen in the High-street, a physician of eminence, accompanied by another Gentleman, following at a little distance, said to his friend, 'that person,' pointing to Captain Watson, 'is not a man but a woman.' The hint took wing; and in less than an hour after no Captain Watson was to be seen.... Report adds that, after playing the same game in the county of Inverness next summer, under the name of Dodsworth, wth some little success, she was apprehended, tried and convicted...'
The article goes on to saythat she was sentenced to seven years transportation, but the sentence was never carried out. 'What is become of this wonderful character is unknown.'

What do you think? Fact or a newspaper 'silly season' story?

Louise

Over the Border for a Quick Wedding and…ginger beer?

noreply@blogger.com (Louise Allen) — Mon, 07 Jan 2013 05:00:00 +0000

A young couple making a wild dash for the Scottish border with an irate father in pursuit armed with a horsewhip, shotgun (or both) is a familiar theme, but why was it necessary and was Gretna Green the only destination for desperate lovers?

Scotland and England, two separate kingdoms, have different laws covering a range of activities, but for marriage this was not of much concern to anyone until Hardwicke’s Marriage Act of 1753 tightened up on clandestine marriages in England. English marriages should always have been performed by an Anglican clergyman in a parish where one of the parties was resident – but this was a “guideline” not enforced by any legislation.

As travel became easier so it also became simpler to slip away and get married somewhere questions would not be asked. This suited bigamous bridegrooms, underage couples – anyone in fact who wanted to be married away from home and escape detection. Many marriages were carried out by defrocked clergymen or other dubious characters and often in areas outside the jurisdiction of the Church of England. The most famous of these was the area around the Fleet Prison in London, which is why such marriages are often referred to as Fleet Marriages.

Thousands of clandestine marriages were performed every year – 6,000 a year is the estimate for the Fleet. Miraculously many of the 800 or so notebooks and registers that recorded these marriages have survived, thanks to a deliberate attempt to collect them up in the early 19th century. They can be seen at the National Archives (Class RG7: Registers of Clandestine Marriages and of Baptisms in the Fleet Prison, King’s Bench Prison, the Mint and the May Fair Chapel.)

The scope for bigamy and the difficulty of proving the legitimacy of children or sorting out questions of inheritance was an increasing concern with clandestine marriages so frequent and so the Lord Chancellor, the Earl of Hardwicke, introduced his Marriage Act in 1753. From then on (unless you were a Jew or a Quaker) you must marry in the Church of England by licence or banns and the marriage would be recorded in a special register with its pages numbered to help prevent fraud.
Over the border in Scotland this law had no force and the rules about what made a marriage legitimate were far more relaxed. Couples could marry in church or chapel if they chose but they could also marry by declaring their intent before witnesses (marriage by declaration) or – of no use to English couples – they could be considered married by “custom and repute” simply by living together for a number of years.

The age where marriage without parental consent is legal was also lower, and remains at sixteen in Scotland to this day while in England, by the eighteenth century, it was twenty one.
Overnight, marriage in Scotland became the obvious option for couples who could not wed in their home parish for whatever reason. Any location over the border was of equal validity for the purpose but the first town or village on the major road routes were obviously more popular. Gretna Green is the most famous and it was also the most accessible from many parts of England because it is just over the border at the most southerly point where the two countries join.

However, if the Great North Road to the west suited you better, then the tiny hamlet of Lamberton was the place to aim for. The border is more complicated here than anywhere else because of the status of Berwick upon Tweed. The Tweed is the geographical frontier between England and Scotland, but Berwick on the north bank had an anomalous legal status after centuries of being a buffer between the two nations. The Berwick Bounds cover the area for four miles around the town and Scottish marriage law did not apply until you were outside them.

Lamberton, just over this frontier, had a toll house and it was here that couples taking the Great North Road route could first be married – and were until 1856 when an Act of Parliament prevented all marriages that had not been preceded by a residence of at least twenty one days.
The toll house is still there, although you need to look hard to recognise it in what looks at first sight to be a 20th century bungalow.

Once at Lamberton the fugitive couples were safe, and so was whoever performed the “ceremony” for them – usually the toll-keeper. But carelessness was punished savagely. On one occasion the keeper, Joseph Atkinson, had gone into Berwick on business. A couple arrived to be married and his wife told them where he was. They tracked him down and he married them – but within Berwick Bounds. The marriage was declared null and void and the unfortunate Mr Atkinson was sentenced to seven years’ transportation to Australia.

On a lighter note, the wonderful chronicler of the stage coach routes, Charles G Harper, records that until 1856 a sign in the window of the Lamberton toll house read, “Ginger-beer sold here and marriages performed on the most reasonable terms.” (The Great North Road. 1901)

Louise Allen
Forbidden Jewel of India Harlequin & Mills & Boon January 2013

Harlequin Historical Authors Giveaway Winners - so far

noreply@blogger.com (Diane Gaston) — Sat, 22 Dec 2012 05:37:00 +0000

Here's a list of our winners...so far!

November 28 (Marguerite Kaye) Alaine from England

November 29 (Annie Burrows) Laura from New York state

November 30 (Michelle Styles) Frances from Preston

December 3 (Michelle Willingham) Fedora C

December 4 (Diane Gaston) Melissa from Austin; Bonnie from NC

December 5 (Lucy Ashford) Kai from Los Angeles

December 6 (Joanna Fulford) Carol from Leeds

December 7 (Amanda McCabe) Kirsten K

December 10 (Sarah Mallory) Alaine from Bolton, Lancs

December 11 (Barbara Monajem) Claire C

December 12 (Julia Justiss) Khristine from Los Angeles

December 13 (Terri Brisbin) Jean M from Missouri

December 14 (Louise Allen) Helen from Great Yarmouth

December 17 (Jeannie Linn) Rosemary K

December 18 (Blythe Gifford) Janie from Missouri

December 19 (Ann Lethbridge) Amanda from Luton, UK

December 20 (Bronwyn Scott)

December 21 (Elizabeth Beacon) Solange from London

December 24 GRAND PRIZE
Email that day's author if you have any questions

HH Advent Calendar:Elizabeth Beacon

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle Styles) — Fri, 21 Dec 2012 00:00:00 +0000

Welcome and Happy Christmas from Elizabeth Beacon, a writer of Regency Romances!

I was delighted to be invited to host my day of the HARLEQUIN® HISTORICAL Authors’ Advent Calendar Competition on the HARLEQUIN® Historical Authors’ Blog today. I’m new here, but have just finished my twelfth novel for HARLEQUIN® HISTORICAL and have been writing Regency novels for HARLEQUIN® for five years now. My next book, The Scarred Earl, is due out in May 2013 and is the second of the Seaborne Trilogy that began with The Duchess Hunt. My own website is being developed and should be online any day now, but this was a lovely opportunity to say hello to so many HARLEQUIN® HISTORICAL readers and wish you all joy and laughter and hope for the Christmas season and for 2013. I would like to say a very big thank you to my fellow Harlequin® Historical authors for their invitation to join them and host my day of the Advent competition here.

It’s a huge privilege for me to be the last author to pose individual questions for this year before the final grand draw on December 24^th, when some lucky person will be drawn from all the calendar entries to win THE MAIN PRIZE, a Kindle Fire HD.

The prize I’m offering today is a signed copy (although that’s only signed by me) of my Christmas book, Governess Under the Mistletoe, which is the second book in Candlelit Christmas Kisses duo (
yes, there are two books in this one, the second is by lovely Anne Herries, so if you don’t like mine then hers is sure to delight and entertain you); a signed copy of The Duchess Hunt, which was published by HARLEQUIN® HISTORICAL in June 2012; and a delicious Lettuce scarf printed with strawberries that I couldn’t resist, because sending out real ones could be a bit tricky! All that adds up to nearly £30 GBP, so I hope you will think it worth your while to enter and, don’t forget that every entry counts towards the main prize drawn on Christmas Eve, so the more times you enter, the more chance you have of winning that Kindle Fire HD.

So my advice is to read the extract from my latest book, Governess Under the Mistletoe, before you answer this question!

What does Sophie use to pull Peter out of the snow?

‘No, I’m sure I saw someone,’ the Sophie voice insisted and Peter almost believed she was real, and shuddered at the monstrous idea of meeting her now he was all but spent and at his most vulnerable. ‘Over there, I tell you. There really is a rider heading straight into the ha-ha, Cordage.’

Halting Hannibal, lest she was real and right, Peter wondered at himself for believing in the impossible at such a time. He hesitated between jumping down and risking floundering, or staying up here and hazarding Hannibal’s knees. Deciding on the lesser of two evils, he heaved himself out of the saddle and sank up to his hips in drifting snow as he fought to push his horse back from the ditch. All the poor animal wanted now was to take the quickest route to shelter and the stable he seemed almost able to scent on the howling wind.

Very well, Peter told himself with determined logic, since the ha-ha clearly exists, the voice that says it’s there must be real as well.

Even if that voice sounded perilously close to that of a female he never wanted to set eyes on again so long as he lived, he had to believe his senses or risk being on the edge of madness. There was nothing for it but to believe the siren voice would find a way to rescue him before he and his horse expired from sheer cold and exhaustion, and Edwina, Aunt Hes and Merryweather had to kill Cedric for being possibly the most annoying man in England – or make a bonfire out of the coach in order to keep themselves warm and try to attract attention to their plight.

‘Over here!’ he bellowed, as loudly as he could over the howling wind.

Lights flared through the murky darkness, sometimes blotted out by driving snow, sometimes clear as will-o’-the-wisps in the sudden breaks in the curtain of white as it swirled another way.

‘Rouse the grooms and stable boys, Miss Imogen,’ the man roared over his shoulder. ‘We’ll need help to carry him inside if he’s been out in this for very long.’

‘Imogen, do as Cordage says and then go inside and do me the courtesy of staying where I asked you to in the first place,’ the Sophie-like female ordered some poor soul beyond Peter’s faltering vision. He sympathised with the poor girl, whoever she might be, since she clearly lived under the cat’s paw.

‘And you should get inside in the warm as well, miss,’ the man called Cordage argued rather desperately.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the shrew ordered her companion impatiently.

At the sound of her voice growing louder in his ears, Peter decided he ought to be grateful she was nigh as ungovernable as the woman he remembered so reluctantly as the most indomitable female he had ever met, since this one had evidently seen him from the window yonder and set out to rescue him.

‘Catch this!’ the woman ordered him, and he put out a hand without even thinking about it and caught the end of the leather belt she threw him more by chance than any skill on his part. ‘Now, pull yourself back onto the road with it,’ she went on, as if in charge of at least a battalion of rather stupid men lost in the snow. She prepared to lean back against his anticipated weight on the end of it.

‘With one hand?’ he demanded crossly, and thought he heard her gasp at the first sound of his suddenly hoarse voice – as if he reminded her of someone she didn’t want to recall as well.

‘Let your horse go and he will surely follow us. There seems little doubt he has more sense than you do,’ she said brusquely, and a dreadful suspicion began to dawn on him that this wasn’t a female who sounded like opinionated, sneaky, lying, felonious Sophie Bonet, but the real thing.

® and ™ are trademarks owned by Harlequin Enterprises Limited or its affiliated companies, used under license.

So, if you have your answer at the ready folks, here’s what you need to do:

There is a problem with Rafflecopter so email the answer with Elizabeth Beacon giveaway in subject line to contest@michellestyles.co.uk

Good luck, I will choose a winner at random from the correct answers then pass all of them to the main competition.

Have a lovely Christmas and thank you for playing the game.

Harlequin HIstorical Advent Calendar: Blythe Gifford

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle Styles) — Tue, 18 Dec 2012 09:01:00 +0000

Blythe Gifford is giving a Colonial candle in the scent which helped her write her latest trilogy plus a choice of book from the trilogy. For more details see her website.

Harlequin Historical Advent Calendar: Jeannie Lin

noreply@blogger.com (Michelle Styles) — Mon, 17 Dec 2012 18:56:00 +0000

Today is Jeannie Lin and she is giving away a pendant because her June 2013 release The Sword Dancer has a pendant which is integral to the plot as well as a signed autograph copy of My Fair Concubine. For details on how to enter please go here.

Castonbury Park Christmas Party

noreply@blogger.com (Melinda Hammond/Sarah Mallory) — Tue, 11 Dec 2012 07:00:00 +0000

It's Christmas and Castonbury Park is hosting a party. We do hope you will drop in and raise a glass with the Montague family and perhaps slip along the chilly corridors to the servants' hall to say hello to Hannah Stratton, Lumsden, Smithens and the rest of the servants, who have been given leave to hold a party of their own.

In the drawing room, Giles insisted that Adam and Amber be invited to join the Montague celebrations,and they have come, despite Adam's initial reluctance. They are now in the drawing room and they have brought presents for everyone, dress-lengths of the finest muslin for the ladies and the best superfine for the gentlemen. Even the duke is delighted with the spotted velvet that Adam has selected for him and has instructed Smithens to have it made up into a jacket as soon as maybe

Claire bends awkwardly and kisses the Duke on the cheek, enquiring after her brother's health and smiles when he declares he's never been better, though missing her husband's cooking. At Lily's questioning look at her tummy, she nods. The baby is due in the early spring, she explains. When the men look around for the culprit, she explains he popped in to visit with the staff. Andre strolls in at that moment and is greeted by a chorus of congratulations which he accepts with good grace and a proud smile at his wife. They link arms and he escorts her to a chair at the hearth despite her laughing assurances she is perfectly fine.

Giles calls order and holds up a paper. 'I have a letter,' he announces, 'From Ross.' He proceeds to read in his rich, deep voice -

"Greetings and good wishes to all. It is with regret that Lisette and I cannot be with you at Castonbury Park to celebrate Christmas, but we will be with you in spirit. We are both happy to be back in India. I am still on leave from my regiment so we shall be spending the festive season with friends in the Malabar Hills – not quite the way it is celebrated in England but it will be our first Christmas together so it will be a special time for us. Picture to yourselves a picnic in a grove of leafy mangos and feathery palms, bright tropical flowers and cool sea breezes. Later, the gardens will be hung with lanterns for a Christmas ball, the house gay with music and laughter and a flutter of fans and the clink of dress-swords.

The New Year will see me resuming my regimental duties, when Lisette will have her first taste of what life will be like as the wife of a soldier..."

Hannah Stratton is in the Servants' Hall, where she enjoyed a glass of wine with Monsieur Andre before he went back upstairs, and now she is watching the younger members of staff preparing to dance. Earlier in the day, the children from Lady Kate’s village school gathered around Hannah to receive the gifts Kate and her husband Virgil had sent from their new home in Boston. Spinning tops and jumping ropes, skittles, some beautifully illustrated books of fairy tales, and best of all, a carved rocking horse. Joe Coyle, the footman, had to arbitrate when a fight for possession broke out between one of the children and Charlie, the boot boy which Miss Thomson, the school mistress, failed to spot, for she was busy reading Lady Kate’s letter.

‘Her ladyship says that she and her husband have established a school exactly like the one in Castonbury village,’ Miss Thomson exclaimed as the Reverend Mr Seagrove came into the kitchen with his usual beaming smile.

‘Lady Kate asks most kindly after you,’ Mrs Stratton told the vicar as she offered him a hot mince pie.

‘She asked most kindly after every one of us,’ Becca the scullery maid piped up. ‘She even remembered Charlie and me.’

‘A toast,’ said Lumsden, earning himself a round of applause as he dispensed glasses of hot punch for the adults, fruit cup for the children. ‘To Lady Kate and Mr Jackson. A very merry Christmas across the seas.’

Bram tapped Phaedra on the arm. “It’s time.” A shiver of excitement ran through her. Phaedra put down her glass of Christmas punch. Aunt Wilhelmina cast them a disapproving glance as they discreetly moved towards the drawing room door, leaving the Castonbury Christmas party. But Bram smiled and mouthed the words, ‘The foal’ and Aunt Willy’s expression softened, proving Bram could charm anyone. He’d worked miracles winning her aunt’s favor since their marriage.

In the stables, Tom Anderson was already with the mare, kneeling beside her. He looked up at their approach. “It’s good you’re here. Too much longer and you would have missed it. She’s having an easy time of it.”

Phaedra and Bram knelt beside the horse, Phaedra taking up position by the mare’s head. Within moments the new foal slid into the world, another fine colt from the Weston Stud. The little foal stood up and Phaedra gasped. “Have you ever seen anything like that? He stood up so fast!”

The mare was licking him, encouraging him to nurse. Phaedra and Bram rose from the straw and moved away, giving the mare room to adore her baby. “He’s beautiful, Bram.” Phaedra breathed, feeling Bram’s arms around her.

“Do you have name?” Bram asked quietly.

“Miracle.” It had been a year for miracles at Castonbury with Jamie returned to them, Giles married at last, and Claire expecting, and now a beautiful colt born on the night of the greatest miracle of them all.

“Perfect.” Bram kissed her cheek. “I’ll go open up a keg of ale and let the stable celebrate.”

And while all the celebrations are going on, in one of the upstairs chambers on this cold night, a lady awaits a blessed arrival for the New Year, and a bright future for Castonbury Park.

Do drop in and leave a comment - there's mulled wine and apple bobbing to enjoy!