Historical Romance Excerpt ~ Charming the Duke

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www.hollybushbooks.com


Matilda and the Duke are caught!

 It all supported her notion that the glasses, brown dresses, and scruffy boots separated the chaff from the wheat. Those that deemed her worthy enough to speak to when dressed that way, and those that chose this evening to address her. The Duke had apparently noticed her gown.

Thornsby stared at her as if in a trance. She wondered what was going through his mind. “Don’t make Altry to be any more the cad than you, Thornsby. You’ve never noticed me either. Unless to insult me.”

His eye twitched. “That is untrue.”

“Far from it,” Matilda said.

“Don’t presume to know what is in my mind,” Thornsby said and grabbed Matilda’s bare shoulders.

The moment was charged with sparks, shooting through the air, connecting him to her. Matilda felt, well, she didn’t know what she felt. Fluttery and female. Angry. Aware. The touch of his fingertips drifted down her arms leaving her hands numb. Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

“What is on your mind then?” she asked.

“I’m thinking of kissing you, Miss Sheldon.”

Matilda batted her lashes. “Is it the dress?”

Thornsby touched his lips to hers. A feather’s touch. He inched back to gaze over her face. “I don’t know. But I don’t think so.”

His breath was warm on her cheeks. She’d never been this close to a man before. She could see the lines around his mouth and the bristle of his beard. He touched his lips to hers again.

“What do you imagine it is?” Matilda whispered into his mouth.

Thornsby slipped his hand around her waist and pulled her close. He tilted her head up with his finger. “I haven’t a clue,” he said. Then he kissed her. Really kissed her.

* * *

Matilda’s lips were open and guileless. Her skin was smooth and warm where he held her chin, and she draped her arms over his shoulders. Thornsby turned his head and sunk his tongue into her mouth.  She sighed and went soft in his arms. He ran his knuckles down her neck and lower still to the curve of her breast. He knew from experience this was no casual kiss. This was a lover’s kiss, a prelude to a bedding.

Thornsby released Matilda’s lips and opened his eyes. Her eyes were still closed and her cheeks rosy and her mouth in a lover’s pout. He was still breathing hard, but his blood was beginning to return to his brain.

What had he done? Why had he ignored Millicent and hurried to keep the wren from backing off a step? Couldn’t fathom why he’d asked her to dance or been so damn angry when Altry stared at her like a tasty, innocent morsel. And what on earth had possessed him to drag her into a dark room without a chaperone. Thornsby’s head flew up when the door banged open.

“Matilda!”

“Thornsby!”

New Historical Romance ~ Charming the Duke

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Are you a Victorian Romance fan? What's your favorite story line? Favorite Victorian author? Let's talk romance!


www.hollybushbooks.com

1849 . . . Matilda Sheldon, the middle daughter of the sixth Earl of Bisset, has never been interested in the fashionable society events that so preoccupy her parents and siblings. Her loving, albeit, daft family cannot understand why.  But Matilda has little use for silly rules and dramas. She would rather occupy her time with a worthwhile cause such as opening The Sheldon Home for Orphans, much to the chagrin of her mother and grandmother. They are quite certain a venture of this nature will discourage suitors. Matilda is quite certain that if suitors are discouraged it is because she is clever, plain, a bit clumsy, and inevitably compared to her beautiful sisters.

The Duke of Thornsby is in tight spot. After receiving the title on the death of his father, he discovers the inheritance is to be gifted elsewhere if he does not marry before his thirtieth birthday. Unfortunately, our man-about-town is embroiled in a scandal, not of his own making, and the marriage mamas won’t let any eligible misses anywhere near him. What’s a Duke to do? Get invited to a house party hosted by the notoriously absent-minded Earl of Bisset, who just happens to be Papa to some young ladies of marriageable age!

Thornsby finds himself fascinated, not with the two Sheldon debutantes actively seeking a husband, but rather with the ‘brown wren’ he first mistakes for a servant. Matilda is counting the hours until the house party ends when the necessity of conversing with the guests will be over, and ridiculously handsome men go far away. Can a worldly Duke convince a sensible girl to accept his court? Find out in Charming the Duke.

Charming the Duke ~ New Historical Romance!

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Hello all and I hope you're having a wonderful day! Please enjoy an excerpt from my newest release.

Near London, 1849

Matilda Sheldon concentrated on the stitches of her needlework and listened to the mindless chatter around her. From early afternoon until nearly teatime, her two sisters, Juliet and Alexandra, and her mother, continued a conversation on the virtue of green vegetables in one’s diet. Often Matilda was reading a book when these three found an inane topic worthy of four hours of discourse. Sometimes she let her mind or her feet wander far away. Today, though, she had promised herself to finish the doily she’d been working on for two months.

“What is your opinion, Matilda?” Alexandra asked. “Yes or no to the nasty broccoli.”

Matilda pushed her glasses up with her middle finger and stabbed herself in the forehead with the needle she held. “Botheration! That stings.”

“Tee hee,” Juliet giggled.

The only person on the face of God’s green earth to say tee hee aloud was her sister Juliet. It didn’t appear odd to anyone in her family. Nor anyone else for that matter. Men, in particular, found Juliet’s tee-heeing terribly becoming and some actually replied with a spoken, “Guffaw.” Matilda could only shake her head in wonder.

Frances Sheldon stood gracefully and approached Matilda. She pulled the ever-present lace hanky from her sashed waist, dabbed it with her tongue, and touched the small globe of blood on Matilda’s forehead.

“Must be more careful, darling,” Matilda’s mother said.

“I say hang the vegetables and double the cakes,” Alexandra said.

“How naughty of you, Alexandra,” Juliet replied. She turned in her seat to face Matilda. “But you’ve yet to share your feelings. Greens. Nay or yea?”

“How witty, Juliet. Nay or yea. It rhymes, you know,” Alexandra added.

As if any persons but the ones in this particular room needed instruction on words that were the same in sound except for their first letter. “I imagine moderation in all things applies to diet as well, Juliet. Some greens, some meats, some sweets,” Matilda said. Her sisters stared at her straight-faced. Her mother stitched. The room was silent as it seemed they had applied for her opinion and taken it as gospel. Matilda hoped it ended more hours of speculation.

Frances Sheldon looked up from her stitching minutes later with the same smile that had knocked the bachelors of London on their seat twenty-five years ago.

“Some meats, some sweets. Nay or yea. They rhyme. How droll, girls.”

“How droll,” Alexandra repeated with a giggle.

“Tee hee. Tee hee.”

“The Earl of Finch will be here this weekend, Juliet,” Frances said. “I believe he will make an offer very soon.”

“La de,” Juliet said.

“But don’t you think he’s ever so handsome and dashing,” Alexandra asked as she moved to the edge of her seat.

Juliet shrugged. “I suppose so.”

Matilda eyed her oldest sister. Juliet was fair of skin and hair with a deep dowry, a full hope chest and, by her own admission, future plans as elaborate as hosting elegant balls. “You seemed to like him well enough at the Grossner soiree. Have you had a change of heart?”

Juliet tilted her head. “I’m not sure. Possibly.”

“A change of heart perhaps,” Frances Sheldon said, eyes trained to a biscuit she was holding.

“A change of heart most definitely,” Alexandra added.

Matilda wondered how she’d ended up in this household out of all of England’s families. She would have far preferred to be the only daughter of a village vicar, happily wiling away the hours absorbed in literature and philosophy. It seemed there was no justice. Matilda was the middle daughter in a family of handsome and, well, daft siblings and parents. The only family member she could converse with reasonably was her father’s mother, Grandmother Sheldon. Although Ethel Sheldon preferred to be addressed by her Christian name, her grandchildren, all but Matilda, called her Grandmamma. The old woman cringed each and every time one of her son’s family addressed her as such. They just failed to notice. Matilda knew from her earliest memory that Grandmamma preferred Ethel.

“I’m going to wear either my green or my new yellow gown,” Alexandra said.

“Definitely the green. You must wear the green,” Juliet replied.

“I wonder when Fitz will arrive,” Frances said.

“In time for supper no doubt,” Alexandra said with a smile.

“And bringing his marks from fall term,” Juliet said, frowning and batting her lashes. “Don’t let Father sulk and ruin the party, Mother.”

Frances Sheldon rose and refilled each of her daughter’s teacups. She turned with a knowing look. “Not to worry, girls. Father won’t have anything to say about Fitz’s marks. Your brother wrote last week that Oxford has discontinued its practice of grading its students.” Frances reseated herself. “Some new system, very modern he said. So there will be no poor marks for Father to fluster about.”

Alexandra tilted her head. Juliet smiled winningly.

Matilda looked from her sisters to her mother. “And you believed him?”

Matilda’s youngest brother was a handsome whirlwind of practical jokes and smiles. When she had tutored him over holiday, he’d had one excuse after another to be anywhere his books weren’t.

Frances was incredulous. “Why, of course, dear! Fitz would never misrepresent something so serious, I’m sure.”

Pantless on Amazon

My book is coming out November 6^th.  Or is it dropping November 6^th?  Do books ‘drop’ or just albums?  Better yet - am I too old to use the term ‘dropping’?

I’m nervous.  Not the cute jittery kind of nervous you got when you were thirteen waiting for a boy to call, but the heavy drinking,  binging on carbs, nails down to the cuticle kind of nervous.  I wasn’t even this nervous when I got married.  I remember grabbing onto a window sill, holding on for dear life and then suddenly the realization hitting me – what’s the worst that could happen?  So, what if it doesn’t work out?  We split up and move on – no harm, no foul.  Sure the kids may have some minor psychological scarring, but frankly – who doesn’t?  It builds character . . . and novelists.

But this is different.  This is publishing a book .  Forever isn’t just a suggested notion, but rather forever  is forever.  There is no backing out once it’s published.  I can’t just call the publisher and say – sorry, this isn’t working out.  I’ve changed my mind.  Oh no, when it’s out its out and there’s no putting it back in.  Like a baby – I’m stuck with whatever it is I delivered.

So here I am, naked – NAKED, in front of the world.  And by world, let’s be perfectly clear here.  THE WORLD.  I don’t even stand naked in front of my husband, and now here I am – virtually pantless on Amazon.

But it’s not the world I’m worried about.  Those nameless, faceless comments on Goodreads don’t scare me.  What’s scary are the comments that are going to come from the people I do know.  I’m afraid of the ugly baby.  Everyone knows someone who’s had the misfortune of producing ‘the ugly baby’.  All you can do in your role as good friend is grin and say awwww, when you really want to tell the parents – better luck next time.

So, what happens if I had the ugly baby?  What if my book is the literary equivalent to a baby troll?  Because very rarely do family and friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and former classmates have the confidence and self-assurance to tell me that my book stinks.  We are a polite society after all and the proper protocol for ugly babies and unfortunate mistakes in literature is smiling and saying positive things while talking smack when the subject in question is out of ear shot.

It’s a scary prospect, being virtually pantless.  But it goes with the territory.  Isn’t that what writing is all about –getting your work out there to be seen, to make a minor difference in the world?  And if I have to be pantless to do it – so be it.

 

Jessica Jefferson makes her home in northern Indiana, or as she likes to think of it—almost Chicago.  She is heavily inspired by the classic sweeping, historical romance novels, but aims to take those key emotional elements and inject a fresh blend of quick dialogue and comedy.  Visit her at http://www.jessicajefferson.com for more of her random romance musings.  Be sure to like Jess at https://www.facebook.com/pages/Jessica-Jefferson/ and follow her on Twitter, https//twitter.com/authorJessicaJ

Fall in love with romance again . . .

 

      Available November 6th on Amazon and Soul Mate Publishing.

Excerpt:

He let up a bit and the kiss turned into something different entirely. His mouth was leading her, challenging her inexperience. His tongue tentatively touched her lips, seeking permission. She allowed her lips to part and invited him in.

He moaned against her mouth, a primal sort of groan. The sound was unfamiliar, filling her with fear and logic all at the same time, breaking the trance.

     What had she done?

 

She was acting like a complete henwit! How could she have allowed some man, not even a gentleman, but a common man to reduce her to a weak-kneed, blabbering mess? Not even Amelia’s brother, James, with his roaming hands and sugary words, dripping with guile, had earned such a response from her.

Without warning, Ambrosia pushed him away with all the force her body could muster, sending him stumbling backward.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked.

He balked. Remnants of the passion shared just a moment ago lingering in his eyes, in  his pained expression, in the tension in his body, and most prominently in his breeches. “I was kissing you. Surely, it’s obvious.”

“Why on earth would you do something like that?” Ambrosia took a step away from the door, arms akimbo.

“You said you’d rather not talk, and there aren’t that many alternatives. It made perfect sense at the time and I assumed you wouldn’t mind.”

Her mouth gaped at the absurdity of his words. “Why ever would you assume that?”

He shrugged. “You’re obviously not some young chit out for her debut. And you’re the one who found me. Naturally, I assumed-”

“Well you assumed wrong! I am a virtuous, young lady.”

“If you were that virtuous, you would have turned around as soon as you saw me.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. He had a point, but she wasn’t about to let him know that.

“You, sir, are a danger to women.”

He smiled. “I’ve always thought of myself as more of a gift, really.”

She rolled her eyes, an urge she rarely surrendered to, despite the regularity of her desire to do so. Ambrosia Tisdale prided herself on being the epitome of calm and refinement, not succumbing to base behaviors. But if ever there had been a situation to warrant such conduct, this was certainly it.

The exasperating man was watching her with obvious amusement, finding depraved enjoyment in their situation. He stood with that wicked smile—virile confidence oozing from every pore, with not one single drop of remorse.