Sunday, February 04, 2024

February Already?

 

What's new?

I'm still in the throes of post heart attack tests and examinations. More in March, so it's not done yet. But I'm here, and at home.

As for writing - this situation is obviously going to continue for a while, so I'm looking over my backlist. I still have some books to reissue, but they are mostly contemporaries. They'd have to be heavily edited, because technology has come a long way since I wrote them, but I'm thinking about doing it.

However - I've had an idea and it won't let me alone, so maybe the backlist will have to wait for another day.

And I have a paranormal that was one of those books that was so close to selling and actually won me two agents. Do I rewrite it?

I think I just open a new page in my word processor and go for it.


Thanks

And a sincere and grateful thanks to all the good wishes I received. Honestly, it's been overwhelming and your kind thoughts helped me so much I can't tell you. Thank you so much.


Excerpt

Yes, an actual excerpt! This is from a story that was supposed to be in a Dragonblade anthology, but they couldn't fit it in. The story is still contracted to the publisher, so I can't do much with it at the moment, but I can give you an extract. It's about the matriarch of the Burrell family, Marguerite Burrell. I thought it only fair to give her an adventure of her own! The following excerpt is unedited by anyone but me, so the mistakes are my own.

The picture isn't official, it's just a portrait of a woman who reminded me a lot of Marguerite. An older lady, comfortably built, with a strong sense of elegance.


Rescuing The Cub

Marguerite stared out of the carriage window, past the curtain of thick snow to the green hedges beyond. So far they had made good time, and her coachman assured her they would reach the inn well before nightfall. “Nay,” he’d said when she expressed her doubts. “We’ll be snug before dark.”

Her maid snored, head thrown back and blankets slipping off her lap in her corner of the carriage. In the other corner, Selina Fortescue sat staring into space. A pretty girl, dressed in a fashionable redingote in heavenly blue, she did not appear like a waif, but by her report, she was persecuted and oppressed. At least she’d removed her ridiculously huge bonnet and allowed Marguerite to tuck a blanket around her.

In years past Marguerite would have huddled miserably in a stagecoach, amid the noise and stink of people crammed together in misery, longing to reach their destination, or even the next inn when they could get out for a few precious minutes before the coachman yelled for them to get back in and endure the next ten miles.

This was infinitely better. A comfortable, well-appointed travelling carriage, a hot brick at her feet and soft blankets keeping her warm. No money troubles, not any more, not with daughters and a son who married spectacularly well. They loved her, they took care of her almost to the point of stifling her. That was why she kept the modest house in Edinburgh. Her own haven, where she could retire when the world grew too complicated. As it had now.

Complications followed her around, this time mostly because of Lord Haydock and her dealings with him. Forcibly she turned her mind away from that unfortunate encounter. At least she had the means of rescuing the girl from his clutches.

The arrogance of the man!

The girl, not quite out of the schoolroom, was no stranger to Marguerite, but not an intimate, either. She had met her at musicales, and informal entertainments, always well dressed, her pretty manners to the fore. She had climbed into the carriage and fallen asleep directly after she had been made comfortable, so Marguerite had to wait to make her better acquaintance.

At the first stop, she had not woken but now, when they were clear of London and nearing their first night in a comfortable coaching-inn, she was awake and silent.

Marguerite cleared her throat.

Miss Fortescue turned, a bright smile pasted to her face. “Can I help you, ma’am?”

“Yes. You can tell me what put you into this fix.”

The smile faded. “Did they not tell you? I was afraid.”

“Indeed?”

“That my guardian would marry me. He made advances.”


A knife twisted in Marguerite’s heart. Lord Haydock had not seemed interested in a mere child. His ward, he’d told her, had come from a cousin of his, who had begged him to care for her on his deathbed. She had never been so deceived in her life before.

“What kind of advances?”

Miss Fortescue shuddered and glanced to where the maid sat snoring. “That kind. He came into my bedroom at night, when I was dressing for dinner…” She shuddered again.

How was this possible? Were they talking about the same person? Surely her judgment couldn’t have abandoned her so thoroughly? “What did he do?”

“Told me I must prepare myself for marriage.” She drew herself up and sniffed. “Is that not enough?”

Why would he do that? He already had children. He did not need to marry again, nor was he poor. Something here was not making sense. Haydock had not struck her as the kind of man who would be carried away by passion, enough for him to abandon all propriety and responsibility.

“Did he touch you? Frighten you?”

“He is always frightening me,” she said, but she did not appear afraid. More disgruntled. “And touch me? Yes, he does touch me. All the time. He takes me into dinner, and hands me out of carriages. That is not the problem. He wants me to marry a completely inappropriate person, one I could never have any respect for.” She shrugged. “I believe he owed a debt of honour. I am an heiress, you know.” She smoothed the blanket with a gloved hand. “I was looking forward to my first season. Lord Haydock’s sister was supposed to present me.” She sighed.

Something pricked at Marguerite, and for the first time doubts about the story filled her mind. The widow had a grudge against Haydock. The girl did not understand what Marguerite mean. Well, too late now. She would deliver the girl to her aunt, and leave it at that.

Truth was, with all her ambitions for her children fulfilled, the world seemed a more boring place, and she yearned for adventure. She’d spent most of her adult years in peril of one kind or another, from not being able to pay the rent and fleeing at midnight, to forcing society to look at her daughters, and accept them.

But the adventure, the never knowing what the next day would bring, that she’d enjoyed.

People would kill for a life like the one she had, she reminded herself. But it didn’t make any difference. With a new adventure offered to her, she had jumped at the chance. And to get back at the man who’d offered her something she swore she would never do again.

A flash of red outside the carriage caught her attention. At first she thought it a scrap of fabric, then she sat up straight, heart hammering, and thumped on the roof of the carriage. “Stop, stop!”

Needham jolted awake. She screamed, that little scream of a scandalised lady’s maid. “Madam!”

Marguerite took no notice, but held on to the strap as Mount pulled the horses to a stop. It took some time. As soon as the carriage had juddered to a halt, she had the door open, and with only a brief glance to ensure she was not leaping into a snowdrift or a ditch, she jumped down and raced back to the red cloak that lay on the ground.

Not just a cloak. It was the leg under it that had caught her attention. A young, slender leg, clad in a boot that seemed totally unsuited to the weather.

“Madam!” The footman had reached her. Burnham had come into her service the year before. Generally of a practical turn of mind, he’d refused to get into the carriage when the snow started, instead, sitting on his little perch at the back of the vehicle swaddled in all the blankets and hot bricks she could obtain for him. “B’ain’t right,” he’d said, and wouldn’t budge. Now he was agitated, his broad face wreathed with concern. “Come away, madam! It could be a trick!”

She turned to face him, arms akimbo. “Who would be so desperate to risk their life waiting for prey in this weather? Put that thing away!” She gestured at the pistol her footman held. Waving a hand in dismissal, she spun around and went to the red cloak and pulled it back.

A girl lay there, young and fresh, and evidently in distress. She cried out, shielding her face with one arm. “They robbed me!” she cried. “Left me here!”

“Who did?” Marguerite demanded, then waved the qustion away. “No matter. Let’s get you in the warm.”

The girl was shivering convulsively. Marguerite gestured at the footman. “Take her to the coach. We can’t leave her here.” She turned to the girl as Burnham lifted her up. “What’s your name?”

“D-Daisy,” the girl said.

Marguerite swallowed away the memories that pierced her mind. Daisy was a fond version of Marguerite, but only one person had ever called her that. Nobody else would. Her late husband had shot through her life like a flaming arrow, and she’d loved every minute of the time they’d had together. All too short.

As she trudged her way back to the carriage, Miss Fortescue’s scandalised protests reached her ears. “Who’s this?” she demanded. “We can’t pick up every waif and stray!”

Burnham had tucked the girl—Daisy—into the corner of the carriage not occupied by Needham or Miss Fortescue. True, the snug interior of the travelling-chaise became even more snug, but Marguerite had known a lot worse. The carriage had cooled considerably, since she’d left the door open when she leaped down on to the cold, wet snow. Her boots were soaked, and so was the hem of her carriage gown, but what of that?

“Ma’am, you cannot sit in those boots,” Needham said, dropping to her knees in front of Marguerite. “Let me help you.”

“See to the girl,” Marguerite told her. “I am quite capable of removing my own boots.” She removed her gloves by the simple expedient of tugging them off with her teeth. When Needham opened her mouth to protest, Marguerite gave her a glare that silenced her. She attended to the girl.

Although Needham might irritate at times, she was an excellent lady’s maid. Even in the small space afforded her, she stripped the girl’s sopping wet gloves, boots and stockings off her, and eased her out of the red cloak, dropping it to the floor in a sloppy slap of heavy fabric. Beneath it, Daisy wore a respectable, even fashionable, muslin gown, no protection at all against the weather.

All the clothes Marguerite’s had brought with her were in the trunk. The majority had gone ahead, but she had enough with her to manage until they reached Edinburgh. But nothing in the carriage. Daisy would have to endure the blankets and a now lukewarm brick, which Needham muttered was better than nothing as she put it to Daisy’s feet. The quality of the clothes did something to mollify her, as it was obvious the girl was no waif and stray, but a lady, or close to one.

Miss Fortescue had an equal deficit. She had only brought one small trunk, which lay next to Marguerite’s in the trunk.

“How far to the next stop?” Miss Fortescue asked.

“I planned to spend the night at Stevenage,” Marguerite answered.

“There was a sign for a place called Radley Green,” Miss Fortescue said. “Just before we stopped for…her.”

“Daisy,” Marguerite said. There was no excuse for bad manners.

The coach jolted into motion, and Needham gave one of her annoying little screams again. Less a scream, more a squeak this time. Daisy’s face was barely visible under the blankets, but it least it had some colour. Miss Fortescue and Marguerite now had one blanket each. Needham had none. But if they kept the windows tightly closed, it was warm enough.

“Radley Green.” Marguerite reached for the map book in the door pocket. She opened the volume and found the page. “Hmm. Not far, then.” She glanced out of the window. “But it is getting dark now.”

At this time of year darkness fell alarmingly quickly. Once they reached a village, the house lights would help them. And the warmth of Stevenage was not far away. Marguerite longed for the warm, soft bed and hot food that awaited them there.

A shout from the driver’s seat alerted them to another problem. Once again, the coachman pulled up the horses, but this time Marguerite saw no reason to alight. Risking lowering the temperature in their space back to freezing, she lowered the window. “What’s wrong?”

The coachman slapped his hands together. He was shrouded in a thick greatcoat with numerous capes, and he’d pulled his beaver hat low down on his forehead. He lowered his muffler to speak to her. “Hazard up ahead, Mrs. Burrell. There’s a river, a brook really, but the bridge has given way.”

“On the Great North Road?” she exclaimed. “How can that be?”

A slight movement indicated her coachman had shrugged. “Dunno, missus. Old packhorse bridge, been there a dunnamany years. Well it’s not there now. Only just saw it in time, or we’d be in the river by now.”

“Is there another way around?”

“Another road yonder,” he said. “Not that wide, but we can do it if we’re careful.” He waved.

Through the snowflakes she dimly discerned a cluster of lights and a track in the snow. “Where does it lead?”

“A village,” he said. “Great Radley. We can’t cross until they’ve mended the bridge.”

“What about other travellers?”

“Aye, ma’am, that’s the thing. If we take that road, we’ll be the first since the snow started. Where there’s a village, there’s an inn.”

She saw his point. Her dreams of a comfortable room and good, hot food faded. They’d be lucky to find a single bedroom.

“There’s a big house near,” he said, helpfully. “We can’t reach it tonight, it must be a good ten miles away, but we could find shelter there tomorrow.”

Yes, she vaguely recalled the house. She had never visited, but she’d seen signs for it. She gave in. “very well. Let’s find the village first. Perhaps we can find where the poor girl in the road belongs.”


*

Everyone except Daisy got out of the coach to allow the driver to manoevre it in its new direction, no mean feat in this weather. But his iron wrists did the job and while Marguerite stood at the side of the road with her maid, her footmen and a snivelling Miss Fortescue, she watched him turn the vehicle and pull up again. They clambered abroad. Marguerite would not admit her weariness, but the other ladies drooped as they climbed aboard. They could not hold their heads up.

Even a single room would be better than this.

Great Radley turned out to be a small village strung out along a single road, which offered one inn, at the far edge of the road. A sign swung above them, whipped by the surging wind as they arrived. Night was falling fast now.

Marguerite got down, and strode inside to meet the landlord. Half a dozen male faces turned to stare, and one came closer, wiping his hands on his apron. Marguerite braced herself.

By dint of offering twice the price, she obtained two rooms, and a meal. She was in no mood to argue. Besides, with the bridge down, more prospective guests might arrive. She wanted to secure what was available before that happened.

“I found a girl in the road, about five miles away,” she told him. “Half frozen. Do you know if anyone is missing?”

The landlord shook his head. “It’s been right quiet today,” he said. “Not many people on the road, like.”

“Like what?” Miss Fortescue demanded.

Marguerite rolled her eyes, and the landlord grinned at her. She could do without tactless girls. He could well choose to rent his rooms elsewhere, then where would they be? Until that bridge was mended they were going nowhere. “You’ll be hungry then?” he said.

“Yes, please.”

He did not ask their names, and she did not offer them, but swept up the narrow wooden staircase with the two girls behind her. A footman carried Daisy and deposited her on the only bed. The ceiling was low and the floorboards creaked, but a fire crackled in the hearth and there were curtains over the windows to keep the draughts out. Marguerite had known worse. Much worse.

“Needham, pray attend to the young lady,” she said. She took the maid aside. “If you can get a last name, or any hint as to what she was doing there, lying in the snow, so much the better.”

Needham nodded. “Ma’am. But won’t you want me to attend to you?”

“I spent many years attending to myself, and to my daughters. I will manage well enough.” But she smiled, touched by her maid’s concern for her. Probably engendered by the excellent salary she received, but still, Marguerite appreciated the concern.

She moved away, intending to go to the bed, but a bellowed, “Ho there!” from below stopped her in her tracks.

A male voice, commanding attention, expecting it. Another guest had arrived. She glanced at the footman, standing by the door. “Go into the other room. Claim it. We have paid for it, and we will keep it.”

With a grin, Burnham turned to obey her. “Aye, ma’am. From the sound of it, yon gentleman won’t come to harm from a night in the tap room.”

Marguerite heard the door to the other room close, and a scrape as Burnham secured it, probably with a chair under the latch. That would be how she would do it.

“Ho, I say!”

A muttered order followed, and the sound of heavy feet running up the stairs.

Miss Fortescue uttered a piercing scream and ran to the door, fumbling with the latch. “Oh please! Do not let him in, do not let him know we are here!”

The first Marguerite saw of the intruder was a heavy, polished boot thrust into the space, preventing Miss Fortescue from slamming the door. A large hand followed, clasping the wood and pushing it open.

There he stood, the man who had haunted her dreams, and latterly her nightmares. She stood completely still.

Lord Haydock’s attention fixed on his ward. “What on earth are you about, girl? What insane start has entered your head now?”

Only then did he look around, taking in the other occupants of the room, the bed with the maid bent over it, and then her. His dark eyes glinted, though that must have been a reflection from the fire.

Their gazes met, clashed and hardened. “You!” both said at the same time.


You like?

Tuesday, October 03, 2023

What are you up to this autumn?

 

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Frankie says hello. Or rather, "Don't bother me now."


Into the Autumn

What's new?


We're into autumn, or fall in some parts of the globe. Politics is in its usual confused state, the weather is equally confused, so all is what passes as normal in this day and age.

I'm getting restless to write. Every so often I get the urge, so I think my enforced sabbatical is having a good effect. While my mother is settled in her care home, and my sister is moving up to be nearer to us, I've been pondering the changes of life. Of course as you get older, so do your nearest and dearest. This happens. It's inevitable.

Before the pandemic I visited the USA for as long as I was allowed to every year - usually 30 consecutive days at a time. I made some wonderful friends, and I do miss them, but I haven't been back since. The countryside is so very beautiful and so varied, too. There are lots of places I want to go back and see. What's the best time of year to see Death Valley?

I wrote a novella to conclude the Brazen Burrells series, finally giving the matriarch, Mrs. Burrell, her happy ending. I tried to fit it in to a Dragonblade anthology, but it didn't work. The story went in a different direction. I'm not sure if it will ever see the light of day, but perhaps I can release it as a freebie. Contracts and such mean it belongs to the rest of the series.

I have had some interest in the new line I'm taking - or do we call it back to the beginning? I dearly want to write about one couple going through their life journey together, adding in a cast of friends and family, adding a touch of murder for spice and interest. I thought it might be a vanity project, but apparently not so.

So does that sound like something you'd like to read?


Alluring Secrets.

Let's go back to an older title. One of the Secrets series, which I dearly love.


True Love Sees With The Heart

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Now that his best friend is blissfully married, Severus Granville, Earl of Swithland, finds himself dealing with a wholly unfamiliar urge—to settle down and produce an heir. But among the bevy of beauties vying for his attention, none hold his interest except for one: Penelope. Clumsy, intelligent, appealing Penelope is the one woman with whom he could escape…but she’s expected to marry another.

Afraid she’ll be labeled an unmarriageable bluestocking, Penelope’s family forces her to go without her badly needed spectacles in public, and to hide her intelligence. Though she has loved Severus for years, the best she can hope for is a loveless union with a perfectly suitable—and perfectly boring—cousin. Except Severus seems to have changed his mind.

Hours spent in his rooftop observatory leads to a passion neither of them expected. Yet just as their eyes are opened to the possibility of lasting love, Penelope is snatched away, a pawn in a plot to destroy her family and make her a slave to a man she hardly knows.

If he wants to keep his heart’s treasure, Severus will have to fight for her with everything within him—mind, body and soul.


Buy The Book Here:

Amazon USA : Amazon UK : iTunes : Kobo : Barnes and Noble Nook  :  Scribd

And here's a snippet!

Severus's attention returned to the kitten, which seemed to have settled in, nestling against his waistcoat. “We’ll have to see those scratches seen to as well.”

Penelope thought he was talking about the kitten for a moment, then she remembered her hand and arm, and saw his thoughtful regard on the thin red lines. “It’s nothing. They’ll be gone in a day or two.”

“Still, I’d feel better if they were seen to. Cat scratches can be poisonous.”

She moved closer to him when he moved away, whipping her glasses off when they left the seclusion of the enclosed rose garden. It seemed to attract his attention to them again. “How does Makepiece feel about your spectacles? Will he let you wear them?”

“No.” She was sure about that. “He can’t think why I should need them. I’m near-sighted, so I can see to do the household accounts, nurse a babe, or sew a fine seam. That’s all I’ll need to do as his wife.”

He was close enough for her to see him properly; his expression was calm, but concentrated. “I always knew he was a dead bore,” he commented.

“You shouldn’t say that, sir!”

“Why not?” he demanded, irrepressible. “I’m no hypocrite! I’ll say it to his face, if you like. Oh Lord!”

The last remark made Penelope look at him, startled, for there was genuine dismay in his tone. He glanced at her. “You can’t see, can you? Three of them, bearing down on us with the determination of well trained hounds scenting the prey. Speed up, my dear, I’ll make sure you don’t bump into anything!”

“I’m not that bad,” she assured him, chuckling, and obligingly quickened her pace. It was strange how many people, once they knew of her near sightedness, would assume that she could see nothing. It was the details that eluded her, that was all. An irritation rather than a disablement, she told herself stoutly.

He took her swiftly to the servants’ entrance, where his admirers wouldn’t follow them. The laundry maids were gone, probably to drape the wet sheets over a bush. Laundry would dry well in this heat, Penelope thought in passing. They passed through the sheltered yard and into the narrow passage before the kitchen. The width of the corridor meant Penelope had to move closer to her host. She didn’t dislike it. In this confined space, she became aware of his scent. The sharp, lemony perfume was laced with something spicy and exotic, making her stomach turn in an emotion she wasn’t familiar with and couldn’t put a name to. When she tried to move out of the way, she bumped her shoulder on the wall. It disturbed her being this close. “Put them on,” he told her, seemingly unaware of her discomfiture. “There are only servants here. They won’t tell.”

“My aunt’s maid might be about,” Penelope said shortly. “She’ll tell.”

He gave her a curious look, but didn’t say anything, and didn’t insist she put her spectacles back on.

The kitchen was a bustle of hot activity. The fire burned brightly, despite the heat of the day. The two small boys scurrying about attending to it were bare to the waist, their skinny torsos gleaming with sweat. Penelope looked away hastily, towards the long table where the cooks and kitchen maids were already at work preparing the evening meal.

Lord Swithland grimaced. “I don’t know how they manage in this heat,” he commented. “Perhaps they’re used to it.”

Although everyone stopped to stare at them and bow, there was little fluster at their arrival. Penelope became aware of a suspicion forming in her mind. “This entrance isn’t strange to you,” she said.

He flushed, and laughed. “You’ve caught me out! I use this way as a bolt-hole. I’ve done it since I was small and no one has ever betrayed me. I trust,” he added, turning to give her his full attention, “you will undertake not to tell anyone?”

Penelope was delighted. “So we have each others’ secrets to keep.”

He smiled, intimately friendly. “Precisely.” Her last, bitter memories of being close with him evaporated away. They could be friends now, she was sure of it.

At the first touch of soft fur, he looked down to see a very large, well kept cat snaking around his legs. A tiny bundle of fur pranced in the cat’s wake. “This is yours, I believe, madam.” He bent and carefully deposited the kitten at his feet. At once, the cat, after sniffing at her offspring, took the creature up by the scruff of its neck and bore it away.

Lord Swithland examined his coat, now sprinkled with hairs of white, orange and black. Since his coat was brown, none of them quite matched. A maid approached. “A bowl of warm water, some cloths, and—some tea, please.”

Penelope felt managed. “No, I should go to my room and change.” There were grass stains on the front of her skirt, and she felt a curl straggling down her neck from the once neat bun at the back. She felt dowdy and uncomfortable.

“You certainly should,” he agreed, “as should I. But allow me to see to your wounds first. If they’re not bathed they’ll likely fester.” Taking her arm in his he led her to a small table at the edge of the kitchen, mercifully as far away from the fire as anyone could get in this room. Seeing that he had no intention of letting her slink away, Penelope sat down in the chair he held for her. He sat down in a similar hard wooden chair opposite her. A maid followed, with a brown pot of steaming tea, a milk jug and two dishes. Not the Chelsea and Bow china which was allotted to the Family Rooms, but plain white china. It spoke volumes about his lordship’s familiarity with below stairs that he didn’t seem to notice. The maid placed the bowl between them, and Lord Swithland took Penelope’s hand in a firm grasp, forcing her to put it in the bowl. “I think, in the circumstances, I’ll pour the tea.” He proceeded to do so.

Penelope was almost speechless. She hadn’t considered that the suave, aristocratic Earl of Swithland would have such a practical bent. When she imagined him, which wasn’t often, it was in an elegant drawing room surrounded by languishing maidens, all staggeringly beautiful, not sitting at a plain kitchen table prosaically drinking kitchen tea. Which, she considered as she sipped her own brew, was surprisingly good.

Wednesday, August 16, 2023

A Summer Break

 

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It's August!

What's new?

I had a break this month. I had planned to take some time off from writing, but here we are again.

I went to the RNA annual conference this month, and met up with writer friends. It was so nice to see Sheila Riley and Lizzie Lane again, and to find new friends. I did a talk on how to do backups, because so many writers tend to use unsuitable or unsafe methods. After spending hundreds of hours writing a masterpiece, to leave one copy to be eaten by a computer, or destroyed in a hard drive meltdown seems a bit of a shame.

And then I was talking to someone in the dinner queue about my latest idea, and she asked to see the book! Not that I've written it yet!

Then I had a short break with my husband for a few days. We've had a difficult year, so we went to Sotheby's, to the exhibition of Freddie Mercury's posessions before they go up for sale. That sheet of paper above is part of it. The lyrics to Killer Queen, as written by Freddie. Now there's writing!

The exhibition revealed that he changed the title of the song Mongolian Rhapsody to the one we all know - Bohemian Rhapsody.

What a man he was!

Dressing The Georgians

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And I went to the exhibition Dressing The Georgians at Buckingham Palace. They were Changing The Guard, so it took me a good half hour to get across to the Queen's Gallery. But there I saw the wedding gown of Princess Charlotte. The poor lady lived barely a year after she wore her lovely gown.


As for writing? I'm planning a new series. I haven't been so excited about a series for ages. But I don't want to say too much, not yet! But as a clue - think Richard and Rose!


My latest Release - The Talk Of The Town.

Once Bianca was the talk of the town. Now all she wants is a quiet life. Until murder and mayhem erupt around her - again.

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When Bianca, Duchess of Whiston is invited to a house party at Stonyhurst, she is looking to restore her reputation. But it doesn't work out that way. The marquess's heir, Mr. Alexander Fraser, draws her as no other man has, not even her late husband.

Events escalate, until Bianca finds herself in the middle of a scandal she may never recover from.

Alex's father turned his back on his aristocratic heritage. He made a name for himself in the new, exciting world of industrial enterprise. He was so successful that his son came to be called the Midas of The North. But when the Marquess of Stonyhurst's three heirs die in battle, Alex becomes the heir, despite his desire not to be so.

Until he meets Bianca. Then he's not so sure about anything any longer, except that he wants her.


Order The Book Here:

Amazon :   Publisher

READ MORE ON OUR WEBSITE 


image  Lynne Connolly


 

Wednesday, June 07, 2023

 

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Aaand it's here!

This is the last full-length novel in the Brazen Burrells series is the story of Bianca, The Duchess of Whiston. She was the first Burrell to marry, and the last to find her forever love. After a disastrous start, Bianca finds her forever love in the least expected place.

Her hero is an industrialist, who goes from self-made wealth to an unexpected inheritance that adds a lot of complications to his life. The research was really interesting, uncovering all kinds of things I'd had no idea happened this early. The Victorians are famous for the shift of society, from inherited wealth to the industrial magnates. That's why you can find so many 19th century art masterpieces outside London, in the museums and art galleries of the newly rich Manchester, Liverpool and Glasgow.

Alex knows he's the third heir to a marquessate, but he's not interested in waiting around, or servicing the marquess, who has long been estranged from his nephews. He's rich in his own right, so he didn't need or care about inherited wealth. But then, the unexpected happens, and there he is, with a new empire of his own to build, and the bitter legacy from his family.

Then he finds Bianca. Her reputation is as a feckless, extravagant duchess, but Alex finds somebody completely different. Thoughtful, kind, intelligent...where had this woman been hiding in her scandalous years?

Added to which, there is a murder. To tell you who and how would definitely be a spoiler, so I'll just leave it at that.

So here it is, with the links so you can preorder the book.

Order The Book Here:

Amazon :   Publisher


The Talk Of The Town.

Once Bianca was the talk of the town. Now all she wants is a quiet life. Until murder and mayhem erupt around her - again.

When Bianca, Duchess of Whiston is invited to a house party at Stonyhurst, she is looking to restore her reputation. But it doesn't work out that way. The marquess's heir, Mr. Alexander Fraser, draws her as no other man has, not even her late husband.

Events escalate, until Bianca finds herself in the middle of a scandal she may never recover from.

Alex's father turned his back on his aristocratic heritage. He made a name for himself in the new, exciting world of industrial enterprise. He was so successful that his son came to be called the Midas of The North. But when the Marquess of Stonyhurst's three heirs die in battle, Alex becomes the heir, despite his desire not to be so.

Until he meets Bianca. Then he's not so sure about anything any longer, except that he wants her.

Order The Book Here:

Amazon :   Publisher

 

Here’s your extract. I do hope you enjoy it, and you want to read more!

Recent portraiture preferred to show the sitters in more casual attitudes. Her sister Viola had been painted in fancy dress, as the goddess Diana, a depiction her husband loved. George had wanted to see Bianca painted as Venus, but that commission had never come to pass. Too many debts to settle, too much to do. Like most of George’s schemes, it had dissolved into thin air.

“I didn’t know my older uncle and cousins’ deaths put me in the line of fire. All three of them, father and sons, died at Waterloo.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Yes it is. Officers above the rank of major are not expected to take the field, but they all ignored that. I salute their bravery.” They gave the three men a moment of silence.

“I thought I could ignore all this family duty,” he confessed as they moved on. “I wanted to.”

“Do you really want no part of all this?” She waved her hand, indicating the estate and by implication, the rest of the marquessate.

“I really don’t.” He turned to her. “I have no interest in old portraits. I confess, I did want to know if they looked anything like me, but apart from a superficial resemblance, I favor my mother’s side of the family more than my father’s.” He smiled. “My curiosity is satisfied in that. But I want to commemorate the first time I saw my ancestors in an unforgettable way.”

“Like what?”

“I want to remember this room as the place where I first kissed you.”

Lifting his hand he stroked her lower lip. Not as gently as he’d touched her nose, but he kept his touch light. Sensation radiated through her. She stood still, mesmerized by those dark, liquid eyes. “I want to know how your lips would feel under mine.” His voice lowered. “How good you taste.”

Lowering his head he kissed her, so gently he made her feel fragile. Untouched, as once she had been. When he slid his arm around her waist she didn’t resist, or step back as she should have. Torn, she waited. He deepened the kiss.

She waited no more. The objections rampaging through her head could just be quiet. One kiss? She would take it.

Bianca flung her arm around Alex’s neck, reveling in the fine tremor of his lips on hers as he registered her response. Did he think the desire was all on his side? He was about to discover different.

When he pressed harder, she opened to him, tilting her head so their kiss could deepen, become more passionate.

His tongue entered her mouth, hot and thrusting, desire burgeoning between them. His body hardened, muscles strengthening under her questing fingers. He cinched her close enough for her to feel his erection, as questing as her fingers. She answered him, curling the tip of her tongue around his, teasing, coaxing. Persuading.

He rewarded her with a groan low in his throat, a sound that reverberated through her body.

Then she heard something else. A gasp. Not hers.

Spreading her hand over his chest, ignoring her desire to explore, she pushed him away. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

It was nothing. This woman was jumpy. He needed to take care of her.

He shoved his hand through his hair, pushing it into a rough approximation of his style. Hers would take more work. He’d cupped the back of her head while he kissed her.

He lifted his head and gazed at her, smiling. “We shouldn’t be doing this, but I’m glad we are.”

Sunday, March 05, 2023

The continuing story of An Unusual Courtship

 

Frankie Says Hello

Frankie says hello!

What's new?

Well, An Unusual Courtship is doing well, especially considering the glut of Regencies on the market at the moment, so I'm pleased about that.

Writing is my solace and my joy, and through all my recent problems, I had an idea. Unfortunately it's not the kind of book Dragonblade is looking for, so I'm going to write this one, then look for a publisher for it. Dragonblade doesn't take Georgian romance (I know, Regency is part of the Georgian era!) and it insists that the romance is upfront and centre.

My current project is mid-Georgian set, and has a heavy dective/procedural thread. I've wanted to write it for years, so with everything else going on in my life, I've decided to indulge my passion for the era and for the events of the time.

Not that I don't love writing Regencies, but I fell in love with the 1750s, and never fell out of love.

But for those of you who love my Regency romances, never fear! I'm not abandoning them. They'll be another string to my bow, a refresher. The new project may come to nothing, but I'm writing it anyway.

And here's the promised excerpt. Sorry to keep you for so long!

An Unusual Courtship

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A diplomat Earl and a scandal-ridden adventuress aren’t the perfect match—except in passion.

When Juliet Burrell meets Valerian, Earl of Langston, their attraction is immediate, but their path to happiness is littered with obstacles it will take all their strength to overcome. Val is a diplomat, looking for a well-connected, scandal-free bride to help further his career. Juliet is surrounded by constant scandal, even though none of it is of her making. And Val is engaged to be married to Juliet’s best friend.

But when Val discovers that his future bride is in love with someone else, he and Juliet join forces to help them and end up in a betrothal themselves. As Juliet gets to know Val better, she tumbles further into love with him, but she’s acutely aware that she is the exact opposite of what he needs. She cares for him too much to let him sacrifice everything for her and refuses to accept that their betrothal will result in marriage, even though their attraction has blossomed into passion.

Val wants Juliet, though he knows he might have to give up his treasured diplomatic career to have her. For years he’s engaged in the dark world of espionage, secrets, and lies, and he has done his job well and kept people safe. But he has always viewed his future in terms of the diplomatic work he is suited to, work that may not be possible with Juliet at his side.

It’s not long before trouble and tragedy plunge the Burrells into the mire once again, and Val may be the only one who can rescue Juliet from a situation that goes beyond scandal and into treason.

Is love worth the sacrifice he may have to make?

Order The Book Here:

Amazon :   Publisher

Here’s your extract. I do hope you enjoy it, and you want to read more!

Juliet caught her breath. Did he really mean to marry her? Or no, perhaps he only intended to use her while he needed a partner. Either way, she could not take Maria’s place. Could she? “Why do you need it?” she asked him. “Ambassadors don’t need to have wives.”

“This one does,” he said firmly. “Lords Liverpool and Castlereagh strongly prefer it. And the Tsar has expressed his preference for dealing with married men. I am not the only candidate for the position of Ambassador to Russia, and the others under consideration are married. If I arrive at that dinner without a betrothed in tow, I will not be considered for the post.”

“And you want it.”

“I do,” he confirmed. “But that’s not the only thing I want.” Bending his head, he tightened his arm around her waist and brought her hard against his chest. When her mouth dropped open in shock, he took advantage of it, and kissed her.

Cupping his cheek seemed natural, at least that was where her hand went, as if it knew what she wanted. And she responded, oh how she responded to his kiss. He gave no quarter, and she loved it, reveled in his passion. He touched her lips with his tongue, caressed the soft flesh and pushed inside.

Valerian kissed like an angel, or a devil—she didn’t know which, and at the moment she didn’t care. She slid her other hand around his waist, more to hold on and stop herself falling to the floor. That brought his lower body closer to her and his hard rod pressing against her stomach like a hot brand, one that marked, but caused no pain, only desire and passion.

He touched her tongue with the tip of his, teased it, played with her until she reacted, shyly at first, then with more confidence, especially when he gave a low groan. The sound vibrated deep within her, right through her and she shivered.

Immediately he finished the kiss and loosened his hold on her. When she did not move away, but instead moved closer, he slid his arm around her again, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. They stood together, the only sound in the room the quiet tick of the clock and their breathing. Carriages rolled past outside, and the sound of distant voices reached her ears, such a commonplace thing she seldom noticed it.

His shoulder was right there, so she rested her head on it.

“So is that a yes?” he asked.

“When you put it like that, I can hardly say no.”

He kissed her again.

Thursday, January 05, 2023

A New Year and a New Book!

 

image

What's new?

The first bit of news I have for you is that later this month, I have a new release! (You might have guessed from the picture!)

I’ll start with the description, the order links and the lovely cover. And, of course, an excerpt.

An Unusual Courtship

A diplomat Earl and a scandal-ridden adventuress aren’t the perfect match—except in passion.

Welcome to the second book in the Brazen Burrells series, where scandal and adventure follow Juliet Burrell.

When Juliet Burrell meets Valerian, Earl of Langston, their attraction is immediate, but their path to happiness is littered with obstacles it will take all their strength to overcome. Val is a diplomat, looking for a well-connected, scandal-free bride to help further his career. Juliet is surrounded by constant scandal, even though none of it is of her making. And Val is engaged to be married to Juliet’s best friend.

But when Val discovers that his future bride is in love with someone else, he and Juliet join forces to help them and end up in a betrothal themselves. As Juliet gets to know Val better, she tumbles further into love with him, but she’s acutely aware that she is the exact opposite of what he needs. She cares for him too much to let him sacrifice everything for her and refuses to accept that their betrothal will result in marriage, even though their attraction has blossomed into passion.

Val wants Juliet, though he knows he might have to give up his treasured diplomatic career to have her. For years he’s engaged in the dark world of espionage, secrets, and lies, and he has done his job well and kept people safe. But he has always viewed his future in terms of the diplomatic work he is suited to, work that may not be possible with Juliet at his side.

It’s not long before trouble and tragedy plunge the Burrells into the mire once again, and Val may be the only one who can rescue Juliet from a situation that goes beyond scandal and into treason.

Is love worth the sacrifice he may have to make?

Order The Book Here:

Amazon :   Publisher

 

Here’s your extract. I do hope you enjoy it, and you want to read more!

Lord Langston's shout of laughter echoed off the walls of the narrow street. They had passed the inn, and were walking past a line of small, soot-blackened terraced houses. “You’re a budding diplomat, my dear Miss Burrell!”

He guided Juliet around, and they began to stroll back. “I’m waiting for a new diplomatic assignment,” he told her. “So I’ll be in London longer this time.” He paused, and stared at her, his eyes narrowed. “Ah. May I?” Reaching into his pocket, he came out with a clean linen handkerchief. He wrapped the cloth around his forefinger and touched her jaw.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning a smut,” he said absently, dabbing the spot. His touch felt like fire on her skin, even though two layers of fabric. Three, because his gloves would be lined. But through all of it she felt him, as if he was touching her skin to skin.

He glanced up from his self-assigned task into her eyes, smiling. “All done,” he said. When he unwrapped the handkerchief, he nearly dropped it, but she caught it deftly and stared at it. “I appreciate the assistance my lord. I’ll have the linen laundered and returned to you.” She slipped it into her pocket. London’s chimneys constantly wept the black, greasy smuts that were the result of the coal fires. The handkerchief certainly bore the evidence of one.

She might also sleep with it under her pillow tonight, but that was her business and nobody else’s. They resumed walking, her hand resting on his arm. “How is your lady mother?” she asked.

“Ah.” He paused. “She is back in London. She said she has done so as a favor to me, returning from her new home in Brighton. I suspect she’ll lease that one, since her reason for being there has gone.”

“I thought she had decided to retire from London,” she said. If Lady Langston had not been very well-connected, and wealthy in her own right, society would have turned its back on her years ago. Juliet had never met her, but her reputation went before her. Her discreetly scandalous affaires had not affected her son’s career. Probably because she was linked in one way or another to half the royal families of Europe—the ones the Bonapartes had left alone, that was.

“She did, but that ended, and she discovered Brighton was a terribly vulgar place.” He smiled indulgently, and his face transformed from harshness to a strange beauty, his mobile mouth softening and his eyes gaining a sparkle she hadn’t been aware of before.

“Don’t you mind your mother having affairs?” she asked before she could control her unruly tongue.

“Not at all,” he replied as if she had not been unconscionably rude. “They keep her happy, and stop me tearing out my hair when she buys hideous Egyptian furniture.”

She had to admit he had very glossy, thick hair, currently swept back into a neat style she could not identify. Although undoubtedly dressed well in a dark gray coat, darker waistcoat, and pantaloons—just the thing for town wear—nothing made him stand out. A single fob on his watch chain, polished Hessian boots without gold tassels, and a gleaming beaver hat completed his outfit.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I shouldn’t have asked such a personal question about your mother.”

“No matter,” he said softly. “I would much rather have at least one friend who told the truth. My world is so full of half-truths and dissimulation, I find a straightforward conversation refreshing.”

They had reached the end of the alley, arriving back where they started.

She held out her hand for him to shake. “Thank you, sir. I enjoyed talking with you again.”

At her nod, McCarrick stepped to the edge of the pavement and held out his hand to hail a cab. He was about to put his fingers to his mouth to whistle one up, when Lord Langston held out a hand, palm open. “Wait. You are surely not planning to travel in a public vehicle?”

Facing him, she raised a brow. “Why not? I dislike sedan chairs, and so it is either a cab or walking.”

“Is there not a family carriage you can use?”

They came from such different worlds. Juliet thought nothing of getting a public vehicle indeed, but she answered him politely enough. “I’m used to it, and it’s something I can do without fuss. Every vehicle in Whiston’s stable bears his crest, so I can’t travel without being noticed if I take one. Bianca took the best carriage this morning to go shopping in Bond Street, but I had no mind to go with her.”

The other brow went up, arched and fine, winged like—well, like Lucifer. “You turned down shopping in Bond Street for a visit to a bookshop?”

“Of course.”

“I see. I would be honored to take you home. Fortunately I’m in the phaeton today, so you need not worry about propriety.”

“Since it’s a vehicle open to the weather?” She glanced up. “I see the sun is about to make an appearance. A bashful one, it is true, but it is lurking with intent behind that cloud.” Her comment gave her time to think. Yes, she could go with him. It would be better than a cab stinking of fish or worse, and she would spend more time with him. “Very well, sir. Thank you.”

“I told my groom to bring the carriage here at two,” he said. He pulled his watch out of its pocket. Gold, she noted, but plain and without enamel or jewels—a watch made for use. He flipped the cover open. “He should be here any minute.”

As he spoke, the Cathedral made its presence known. The creaking, clicking sound which presaged the announcing of the hour, followed by the initial bing-bong, bing-bong of the bells made Juliet grit her teeth and clench her fists. “At least it’s only—” she managed before the second peal started. The four quarters duly chimed, the great bell sounded its first boom! “Two o’clock,” she managed to get out before the second one.

His lordship smiled through the ordeal, not even trying to speak. He looked over her head as the brief silence was replaced by the usual chatter, shouts, and grinding roll of carriage wheels. “Here it is.”

Indeed, there it was. The carriage looked as if it would fall apart at the first breath of wind, but of course it would not. A miracle of the carriage-maker’s art, drawn by two high-stepping, glossy chestnut horses, she could only admire the equipage. “My sister Viola would love this. She enjoys driving.”

“What about you?” he said, as the groom pulled up before them with only the slightest touch on the reins. “Do you enjoy driving?”

“Sometimes. I prefer riding.” Unlike Juliet, Viola was a veritable magician with the reins but disliked riding as she had a small deformity that made riding difficult. Her husband was giving her lessons, she said, but Juliet got the sense that more than riding horses was involved in those lessons.

“Allow me to help you up,” he said, moving closer. “The foot rest is a little slippery. I would hate for you to fall.”

He came closer, in the shadow of the carriage, she only had the warning of a twinkle in his eye and a wicked grin before he bent and kissed her.

It was nothing but a brush of the lips, could easily have happened accidentally. It had not. Her lips tingled, and she closed her eyes briefly as he bent and cupped his hands to act as a step up to the high seat. .

It was a kiss—she could not be more certain. His groom stepped down and handed his master the reins as Langston rounded the carriage and leaped nimbly into the driver’s place. “Consider it your fare,” he murmured, as he clicked his tongue and set the horses into motion. She sat there, staring ahead of her.

He’d kissed her. The tingles spread from her lips through her whole body, bringing her alive. She was not even aware if McCarrick had jumped up behind with the liveried groom. She was so confused.


Other News

I am genuinely so excited. I loved writing this book. I start all my books with a plan, but sometimes I get halfway through and I know the hero or heroine won’t do what I’ve planned for them. I have to make them do it. So instead, I stop and re-plot. That means I know the characters better. And that’s when the story comes alive. If that happens, I go back and revise the whole thing, make sure the character I now know better behaves in the way he or she should.

Of course it happened with this book, and it was drastic. The heroine and hero liked each other, but there was no way they would fall in love.

The main Brazen Burrells series had three heroines and three heroes. The hero of the first book, Knowsley, fell for Viola the minute he set eyes on her. But the heroine of the second book, the clever Juliet, wanted someone impossible, the betrothed of her best friend. I had to give him to her, didn’t I? But they couldn’t have an easy journey to their happy ending, and they didn’t.

And then, the second book led into the third book, but you’ll have to wait until later in the year for that one.

 

Writing is my solace, my joy and my escape, but sadly, I haven’t been able to do any writing for the last few weeks. As some of you know, a family crisis stopped me putting out my newsletter last month. I’m so grateful for those of you who sent me your best wishes, and your support. Thank you so much. The events are now settling into their new grooves, although there is a lot to do before we can see where we are. I’ve never had a Christmas like it, and I don’t want another one ever.

 


image  Lynne Connolly


 

Wednesday, November 02, 2022

November News!

 November News

I've moved up to the Regency! Not for all my books, but certainly for the current series, and probably the next one, too.

Although the Regency is still part of the Georgian period (George IV died in 1830) it has a different feeling and character to the earlier ones. Most obvious is the fashion, where gentlemen abandoned the wigs and turned to plainer garb. Beautifully tailored, but the frills and extravagance of the earlier period went out the window.

Yellow pelisse Costumes Parisien 1809 | Regency fashion women, Regency ...Regency Clothing for Men at Historical Emporium

And of course it was a time of war. Most of the period, up to 1815, was spent at war. Even after the war there were years of uncertainty and finagling as treaties were signed and borders on the Continent rearranged. A really interesting time, and a lot of research to be done!

You know me, I love a bit of research, so I've been working hard, reading some really good books and making scads of notes. I don't want my stories to be superficial. While I love a good romp, I like it to have an authentic background.

Like the writer who started it all, Georgette Heyer. She created the Regency genre, although she didn't set out to do that. She discovered her passion for the Regency and that was that.

But I don't take my history from any fiction, even the Divine Georgette. So if you have any great non-fiction accounts of the period, do get in touch!


Book News

I'm currently in edits with the second book in the Brazen Burrells series. My editor at Dragonblade left, and I have a new, shiny editor, who is lovely, and thorough! But the delay in changing editors has made the gap between books a bit longer. It won't be long now! And I'm mostly done with the third and last book in the main series. I've loved writing these stories, and I've found a way to continue, a new series, a new family with different problems, but with links to the Burrells. I've put a new extract from the first book below for you. At the theatre, Gerald takes things a little too far...


The Only Honest Man In London - Extract


 

When the adventuress and the earl meet – sparks fly!


Welcome to book 1 in the new series The Brazen Burrells by USA Today Bestselling author Lynne Connolly.


When the Burrell sisters take the ton by storm, nobody is more surprised than Viola. The whirlwind of their elevation to the highest in the land pushes her into the arms of the Earl of Knowsley. Viola is lost, all her careful plans abandoned. She has nothing to offer but her beauty. A hidden disability has taken away her confidence and her grace. If she gives him her heart, will he give her a ring, or a carte blanche?

Gerald wants to marry, but not to the ravishing beauty who entrances him from the first time he sets eyes on her. He wants a rational marriage with moderate affection, not the tempest of passion Viola leads him into.

From an encounter in the sordid London docks, to a presentation at court, to riding lessons in the park, Viola and Gerald grow closer, until the actions of her sister and his best friend threaten to force them apart.

If they survive this, they can survive anything. If they don’t, they’ll part forever.


The Brazen Burrells

Book 1 - The Only Honest Man in London

Book 2 - An Unusual Courtship

Book 3 - The Talk of the Town


Buy The Book Here

Excerpt

“Where do you come from?” he asked.

“I was born in Dublin, and we had a Season in Edinburgh.”

“ You’re Irish?”

“Partly. Is that a crime, sir?”

He smiled. “Not when they resemble you. My dear, if Ireland has any more like you, let them all come.”

“Irish ladies are much like the ones here.”

Lifting his hand, he slowly touched the back of one finger to her cheek. “Beautiful.”

She jerked back, heat rushing to her face. “Sir!”

“I could not resist. Your skin invites touch, Ma’am.”

She turned, ready to flounce. “If you will excuse me, sir …”

She made to walk past, but in a move she could not predict or expect, he took her arm and whisked her behind a curtain into a small space. Where was her footman? Good Lord, there was a daybed here! “What is this place?”

“Not many people know of these convenient little nooks, but the management understands the needs of their customers.”

Well good Lord, were these society men all priapic? Did they need convenient nooks to satisfy their whims?

Viola was confused, flustered, angry, aroused, all at the same time.

He did not release her this time, but drew her closer. Unaccountably, her breath shortened, and the flush that had risen to her cheeks flooded over her whole body and turned into the heat of desire. She wanted, and she didn’t want. This was wrong, she knew it, but in the second before his mouth came down on hers, she could do nothing but turn her face up, and wait.

His lips cushioned hers, firm and masculine, and they tasted so good. She savored the tang of brandy, but the rest was all him. His arm came around her, holding her while he plundered. The kiss turned passionate, transmitting everything he had said only with his eyes before.

It confirmed everything she’d suspected. She would give him anything, just for the asking. And she didn’t care. Sin had never tempted her so much as it did now. She longed for him, wanted what he would give her.

Still in the kiss, he drew her further into the room until the backs of her knees touched the edge of something. When he urged her down, she went, finding the soft resistance of the daybed behind her.

And still he kissed her, leaving her to draw breath, and enter into the fray again. Viola had lost all her words, only soft moans coming from her lips as he kissed her cheek, her throat, and then moved her gown aside to kiss the exposed part of her bosom. She gasped as thrills coursed through her, turning her blood to champagne. Nobody had touched her there, nobody had ever stroked her skin so gently with such extreme results.

“Sir!”

“Gerald,” he murmured between kisses. He returned to her mouth, gazing down at her as he cupped her cheek and kissed her again. Willingly, she gave him what he wanted because it was what she wanted, too.

“You are like no one else I’ve met before."

See you soon!