Jill Hughey http://www.jillhughey.com Mon, 18 Jul 2016 14:16:35 +0000 en hourly 1 https://wordpress.org/?v=4.2.32 A Baron for Becky on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/07/a-baron-for-becky.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/07/a-baron-for-becky.html#comments Sat, 18 Jul 2015 05:00:18 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/?p=1041 Today or First Sight Saturday, author Jude Knight shares a first meeting excerpt from her historical romance A Baron for Becky. Jude’s fun fact is this: the night my husband and I fell in love, we chose Peter as the name of our first son. It was 1969. We married in 1971, and our second child (born in 1975) was a son, and we did name him Peter.

That’s a wonderfully romantic tidbit, and my oldest son’s name is also Peter, though we didn’t pick the name until he was a bun in the oven!

Setup of the scene: Becky Winstanley, mistress to the Marquess of Aldridge, is expecting her protector, who has promised to escort her and her daughter Sarah to Astley’s Amphitheatre as a treat for Sarah’s birthday.

BfB cover final smallEXCERPT

That was Aldridge now; an unmarked carriage with nothing to distinguish it from a thousand others turning unobtrusively into the mews. Aldridge was as careful with her daughter’s reputation as she was herself, and would not let the scandal sheets pick up on the connection between Rose’s house and the one where Miss Sarah Winstanley lived.

He was early. She crossed to the sideboard where she kept his favourite brandy, and was pouring him a glass by the time she heard his steps in the hall. Two sets of steps? Who did Aldridge have with him?

The other man was as tall as Aldridge, but dark to his fair. He must once have been stunningly handsome, and one side of his face was still carved by a master; subtle curves and strong planes combining in a harmonious whole that spoke of strength and, in the almost invisible network of lines at the corners of his eyes, suffering.

On the other side, dozens of scars pitted and ridged the skin, as if it had been torn and chewed by an animal; an animal with jaws of flame by the tell-tale burn puckers. Thankfully, whatever it was had spared his eye, which, she suddenly realised, was glaring at her.

“Well,” he demanded, and she was shaken anew by his voice, rich and mellow. She had been staring. How rude. But for some reason, she didn’t apologise as she should, but instead blurted, “I was just feeling glad that what injured you spared your eye.”

He looked startled, and suddenly a lot friendlier. “Thank you. I am glad too.”

That voice! He could charm bird from the trees with it. Becky wondered if he sang.

“An unusual approach to an introduction,” Aldridge observed. Becky collected herself and smiled at her protector. “No one is more important than the man who keeps you,” a mentor had once told her. “When he is present, you notice no one else except as it reflects well on him.”

And Becky had never before had her attention so focused on a guest that she had been unaware of presenting her cheek to Aldridge for his kiss, giving him the expected squeal in return for his squeeze, and returning the kiss.

“An introduction would be polite, Aldridge,” she said.

“My dear, you have heard me speak of my friend, Baron Overton.”

Yes. She had guessed it must be he from the description in the gossip magazine that was even now on the desk in her little sitting room. ‘Baron O., who, despite his gruesome scars, seems set to bag the full haul of heads, or should we say tails, he and the M.M. need to win their bet. She looked at him without favour. Another heartless aristocrat tomcatting his way through life without thought of the suffering he left behind him.

But why was he here? She turned to Aldridge in alarm.

“Overton is coming to Astley’s with us,” Aldridge said. He expected her to make a fuss. She knew that mulish expression in his eye. He felt he was in the wrong, he wasn’t going to back down, and he’d feel better if they could fight over it.

Instead, she turned to Overton. “Lord Overton, I am going to assume that Lord Aldridge would not have brought you here if you were not sober, trustworthy, and aware that my daughter’s future depends on no one making the connection between her mother and Lord Aldridge’s mistress. Since my lord clearly trusts you, I will too.” And, her tone said, I will find a way to destroy you if Aldridge is wrong.

The woman might be a whore, but she had the carriage of a queen, and when she lectured him, her eyes flashing, all he could do was mutter, “Yes, ma’am.”

He’d heard Aldridge’s mistress was beautiful, but beautiful didn’t come close. What on earth was the man doing with other women when he had this one in his keeping?

Satisfied with his answer, she was pouring him a brandy, having already handed one to Aldridge. Aldridge was teasing her about the present he had in the carriage for the little girl. He’d dragged Hugh to the shop to pick it up; a doll as beautiful as a princess and a wardrobe to match. Inspired, Hugh had ordered two: one with dark hair for Sophrania, and one with fair hair for Emmaline. They would be ready in a week, the woman assured him. Good enough. His one month of freedom would be nearly up in a week, with just enough time to ride home.

Aldridge, though, was assuring the woman he had a sack full of kittens, or a pair of puppies, or a pet bear. She just laughed at him, telling him that the care and feeding of such a menagerie would be to his cost, and not hers.

Hugh couldn’t reconcile her speech, her grace, her manners, with her being a member of the demi monde. She was unlike any whore he’d ever known. And what was her name, anyway? He hadn’t really been listening; had half thought Aldridge was playing one of his japes. A mistress who couldn’t be called by her mistress name, which was Rose or Pansy or something like that, but had to be called some other name, and treated like a lady in front of her daughter. Surely it must be a joke?

But apparently it was true.

“What am I meant to call you,” he asked, and could have bitten his tongue. He was never this graceless.

“Mrs Winstanley,” Aldridge said, looking over his shoulder, “and if you’re not going to behave, Overton, you can leave right now.”

“Mrs Winstanley,” Hugh said.

And Aldridge nodded, satisfied, and turned back to the woman. “Do you not think Sarah would like a pony,” he asked, clearly wanting to continue his game.

From behind his back, Hugh glared at the uppity female, and she, with no idea of her place, glared back.

END OF EXCERPT

Well, no one likes an uppity mistress or a rude guest, and I have no idea how this will play out. Who is first going to fall in love? For the answer to that intriguing question, you’ll find the pre-order links below, and also several ways to keep in touch with Jude Knight.

Follow Jude on Twitter: http://twitter.com/JudeKnightBooks

Like Jude on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JudeKnightAuthor

Read Jude’s blog: http://judeknightauthor.com

Subscribe to Jude’s newsletter: http://judeknightauthor.com/newsletter/

 

Preorder links for A Baron for Becky: release date 5 August 2015

Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/548329

iBooks https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/a-baron-for-becky/id1002456566?mt=11&ign-mpt=uo%3D8

Amazon  http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00XWEPZK6?tag=ammbt-20

Barnes&Noble  http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-baron-for-becky-jude-knight/1122082381?ean=2940151956215

 

Thank you Jude, and all our readers, for visiting today.

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2015/07/a-baron-for-becky.html/feed 4 Home Fires on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/07/home-fires-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/07/home-fires-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 05 Jul 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/07/home-fires-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome an author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today on First Sight Saturday, Jana Richards entertains us with a scene from Home Fires, a historical romance set just after World War Two. Jana’s fun fact: I’ve always been fascinated by the events of World War Two. My father was in the war. He participated in the Normandy Invasion on D-Day on Juno Beach with other Canadian soldiers. Four days after the invasion, he was taken prisoner by the Germans and remained a POW until the end of the war in Europe. 
Set-Up for this scene: 
Home Fires tells the story of Anne Wakefield, a young British woman who travels to Canada after World War Two to marry her fiancé. Though Anne and her story are fictional, the phenomena of War Brides is not. Some 48,000 women married Canadian servicemen during the war. The majority of war brides were British, but some came from France, Belgium, Norway, Sweden, Italy, the Netherlands, and Germany. Between 1942 and 1947, these women, along with their 22,000 children, traveled to Canada to begin their new lives.
EXCERPT
October, 1945
Anne Wakefield checked the clock in the Emerald train station’s waiting room, her stomach clenched with anxiety. She’d been waiting nearly an hour and there was no sign of Anders. With every second that passed, her fear increased. Had he been in an accident? Did his car break down? Or had he decided an English bride was no longer part of his plans?
The station master looked at her, then at his pocket watch, his eyebrows rising as if he too had his doubts about her fiancé. Anne turned away, embarrassed.
The last telegram she’d received from Anders said he would pick her up at the train station in his home town of Emerald, Saskatchewan, a tiny village on the Canadian prairies. From there he would take her the two miles to his family’s farm. But he still hadn’t arrived. She remembered Grace, one of the other young British women who’d traveled with her on the special war brides train across Canada. When they’d arrived in Toronto and her husband wasn’t there to meet her, Grace phoned his home only to be told to go back to England because he didn’t want her anymore. The Red Cross had made arrangements for Grace to go back to England. Anne closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Was Grace’s fate to be hers as well?
The door to the station opened and a tall, powerfully built man entered. Anders! She jumped to her feet and took several steps toward him before she realized the man wasn’t her fiancé. Though he had the same broad shoulders, and carried his height with the same pride, this man used a cane and walked with a pronounced limp. When he removed his cap she saw his hair was dark brown instead of blond like Anders’s. A jagged scar ran down the left side of his face from temple to jawline. Profound disappointment made it almost impossible for her to speak.
“I’m…I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Are you Anne Wakefield?”
Anne lifted her head and looked into eyes the same icy blue as Anders’s. But where her fiancé’s eyes laughed and teased, this man wore an expression of seriousness. She wondered if he ever laughed.
“Yes, I’m Anne. Who are you? Do you know Anders? Do you know where he is?”
“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself. I’m Erik Gustafson, Anders’s brother. I’m sorry to be so late picking you up, but if you’ll come with me, everything will be explained.” He gestured toward her belongings. “Is this your suitcase?” 
She put her hand on his arm to stop him from picking it up. “Wait, please. Where is Anders? Is he all right?”
“Yes, he’s fine.”
“Then why isn’t he here?”
Erik glanced at the station master. Anne followed his gaze. The man nodded at them, making no effort to hide the fact that he was avidly listening to their conservation. 
“This isn’t the place,” he said in a quiet voice. “If you come with me to the farm, my mother will explain everything.”
Anne stared at him for a moment, dread building inside her. What news was so awful it had to be delivered in private?
She had little choice but to hear this news. She removed her hand from his arm and nodded. “The rest of my luggage is on the platform.” 
He picked up her suitcase. “Come with me.”
Anne retrieved her coat and purse and followed him out the door while the station master directed a young man to carry her small trunk. Erik struggled with her suitcase, leaning heavily on his cane, but she stopped herself from offering to take it from him. Her wartime experience as a nurse had taught her that injured soldiers didn’t want to be treated as invalids, or worse, as useless burdens.
She attempted some conversation. “Anders told me you’d been wounded and sent home, but he didn’t say where you’d fought.” 
He gave her a sharp glance. “Dieppe.”  
She waited for him to say something more, but he was silent until they reached an old farm truck. 
“Here we are,” he said. 
While Erik and the young man hoisted her luggage into the back, Anne climbed into the truck. A moment later Erik pulled himself up into the cab, a move that caused him pain, if the tight expression on his face was any indication. She looked away, not wanting to be caught staring. Though she’d just met Erik Gustafson she already knew he wanted no pity from her.
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Jana and I both welcome  your questions and comments. Make sure you come back each week for a new first meeting excerpt from a fresh author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/07/home-fires-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 4 Written in the Cards on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 21 Jun 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-the-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today Lauren Linwood brings us her western historical romance, Written in the Cards. Lauren is a former history teacher who sprinkles all kinds of historical tidbits and trivia into historical romances.

SETUP OF SCENE:  Ben and Maggie saw each other from a distance in the Abilene stockyards as he brought in a herd of cattle from Texas.

EXCERPT:

Ben stepped up on the wooden planks that ran along the outside of the saloon and stopped. Standing next to the swinging doors was the copper-haired beauty from earlier. She spoke to a cowboy and then waved him off, sending him into the bar with a laugh. 
Without thinking, he rushed over to her. “What on earth are you doing standing in front of a saloon? Do you realize how rough and rowdy –”
“Oh, there you are.” Her hazel eyes twinkled, as she looked at him from head to toe. “My, you certainly clean up well.”
Ben stood dumbfounded at the beautiful stranger assessing him like a buyer would a Longhorn steer.
“I’ve been looking for you everywhere. You’d left the stockyards by the time I headed back your way. I checked the bathhouse, but you hadn’t been there yet. I went to the biggest mercantile, but they said I’d just missed you.”
She shook her head. “I figured sooner or later you’d make your way to this street, so I thought I’d simply wait for you to turn up.”
She smiled at him as if waiting for a strange man in front of a cow-town bar was the most natural thing on earth for a pretty woman to do.
“You are some crazy lady,” he blurted out.
The woman chuckled, deep and throaty. Ben swallowed at the way the sound made him tingle. “You have no idea, sir. My aunt Harriet thinks I went off the rails years ago. But that’s another story. I’m here to hear yours.”
He frowned. “Beg pardon?”
“Oh, I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I? Usually I display better manners.”
She held out a gloved hand to him. “I’m Maggie Rutherford, formerly from New York City. And you just came off the cattle drive. The Chisholm Trail, I presume?”
He nodded, unsure of where their conversation headed.
“Perfect!” she declared. “You are exactly the man I’d like to interview.”
“Interview?” He viewed her with suspicion. “Why me?”
She laid a hand on his sleeve. Electricity crackled between them. She pulled her hand away, a puzzled look on her face. 
“I, sir, am a dime novelist. Have you read any Lud Madison books?”
“Yes,” he said, still wondering about the brief contact between them. “Madison’s actually my favorite of the dime novel authors.”
Her hazel eyes sparkled. “You are talking to Lud Madison in the flesh. And whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?”
Ben sputtered his name. This heavenly creature wrote dime novels?
Maggie smiled, and his heart did a flip-flop. “I see I’ve given you a bit of a start. It’s true, though. I am Lud Madison. I simply write under a pen name because there are those who deem it unlikely that a woman could write such adventurous tales of the West. I not only write my novels, but I illustrate them.” Pride was evident in her voice. 
“How can I help you, ma’am?” he asked.
“I’m doing research for my next novel, and I need to talk with someone who’s familiar with cattle drives. You caught my eye, Mr. Morgan. I feel you have a story to tell, and I’d love to incorporate some of it into my next book. I am happy to pay you for your time.”
Ben had no intention of sharing any of his life’s story with Maggie Rutherford, no matter how interesting the fiery redhead seemed. 
“I’m sorry, ma’am –”
“Please, call me Maggie.” 
“What I mean to say is –”
“You don’t have to tell me, Mr. Morgan. I’ve waylaid you from your mission. You intended to have a drink and unwind after long weeks on the trail. Well, I know with your fancy new clothes and those rather expensive boots, plus the bath and haircut, you probably have very little of your trail pay left.”
She turned and started to push open one of the swinging doors.
He grabbed her elbow, ignoring the heat in the contact. “You can’t go in there! It’s not respectable.”
Maggie’s brows rose. “You need a bottle of whiskey, sir, something you sorely can’t afford at this point. I aim to remedy that situation. We’ll sit. You’ll have your drinks. I’ll ask you some questions about being a cowboy on a cattle drive, and I’ll even pay for a night’s rest at a decent hotel.”
She tugged and pulled away from him, entering the bar full steam ahead.
A bemused Ben followed her inside. Under his breath, he muttered, “The little spitfire sure has gumption.”
END OF EXCERPT
How intriguing to have a writer as the heroine! If you want to visit more with Lauren or find Written in the Cards, try these links. 
Website       Facebook          Twitter          Blog          Amazon Author Page

 Lauren and I welcome any questions or comments. Please come back every Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt.

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/written-in-cards-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 4 Under the Moon Gate on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/under-moon-gate-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/under-moon-gate-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 14 Jun 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/under-the-moon-gate-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share an excerpt of a first meeting. Today on First Sight Saturday, Marilyn Baron brings us a scene from Under The Moon Gate, her historical romantic thriller.

Fun Fact about the Author: She’s traveled to Bermuda, the setting for Under the Moon Gate, ten times. 
Setup of scene: 
Under the Moon Gate, a romantic thriller set in contemporary and World War II Bermuda, begins when dashing Virginia sea captain Nathaniel Morgan sails into the life of prim and proper Bermuda heiress, Patience Whitestone, determined to dig up her family secrets at any cost. 
The two are immediately at odds when Nathaniel moors his vessel, the Fair Winds, in front of her prestigious Tucker’s Town, Bermuda, estate and refuses to leave until he finds a cache of Swiss gold he is convinced her grandfather—a German sleeper agent planted in Bermuda in 1937—buried somewhere on the property during the war. 
The following excerpt describes the first meeting between Patience and Nathaniel. 
EXCERPT
Patience yanked open the thick Bermuda cedar door, ready to brush off the unwanted visitor. Instead, she experienced a shock of recognition when
she stared at the man standing before her.
Taking a step back, she examined him cautiously. With long black hair, pulled back by a stark white tie, stunning blue eyes, and a fabulous face that managed to
look both sensitive and sensuous, he could easily pass for a dangerous pirate.
Perhaps she was daydreaming or hallucinating. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night—or any night in the past month—and she had been reading a romance with
a lusty pirate hero on the cover. Probably she still had pirates on the brain.
Although the man at her door was in desperate need of a shave, he intrigued her. Her “pirate” was a tall, imposing presence in tight-fitting but ragged
khakis, with muscles bulging out of a snug, sweatstained white T-shirt.
Good Lord! was the first coherent thought that pierced her brain. She might have said it out loud had she been capable of speech. Her grandmother had said
someone would come for her, but certainly she didn’t mean so soon and definitely not this brash pirate person. And what was he doing at her door, unannounced and unwelcome, on a Sunday afternoon, disturbing her peace and leaving her speechless? One look at this man and she was about to toss all thoughts
of proper behavior out the window.
“H-how did you manage to get through the gate?” Patience finally stuttered.
“Ah, she speaks.”
“Of course I speak,” Patience hissed, still stunned.
“What are you doing here?”
“You mean how did I manage to access a place that’s locked down tighter than the Tower of London?”
“I’m going to call the police now,” Patience threatened.
“If you’re talking about the two bozos at your front gate who are supposed to be patrolling your house, don’t bother. They’re snoring like drunkards. I didn’t
have the heart to wake them. I’d complain if I were you.”
The pirate stuck an oversized deck shoe in the doorway as Patience tried to slam it shut. 
“You’re not going to get rid of me before you’ve heard what I came to say. It’s about your grandfather.”
The breath caught in her throat. “What could you possibly know about my grandfather?”
“I can’t tell you if you won’t let me in,” he said.
Patience knew she should be cautious, but if the man truly had information about her grandfather, well, then, she wanted to hear it—now.
“If you have something to say, say it and leave,” Patience insisted, preparing to do battle.
“It’s obvious you’ve been misnamed, Patience. You don’t seem to have any.”
More indignant and angry than ever, Patience snorted. Word of her notoriously sweet and tolerant disposition hadn’t yet reached this man, apparently.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” he continued. “It’s teatime.” The man flashed a smile and a hint of dangerous dimples.
“I think I’ve been more than patient, and I don’t even know your name,” Patience insisted, wondering how he knew hers.
“I didn’t give it. And I scaled the fortress to get to the princess.”
“I’m hardly a princess.” Patience scowled.
“You’re the closest thing Bermuda has to royalty, one of the most respected names on the island. Blood in Bermuda doesn’t get any bluer than yours, does it, Patience? Your grandmother’s family has been connected to all the big names on the island. You can’t go anywhere in Bermuda without tripping over a legend—the Smithfields, the Tuckers, the Triminghams, the Goslings, the Overbrooks, the
Coopers, the Carters, the Whitestones.”
“Why don’t you come back later? This isn’t a good  time.”
“I’ve come a long way to talk to you.”
“I don’t know you.”
“But I know you,” he said, eyeing her narrowly. “You’re Patience Katarina Whitestone?”
“Patience Katherine Whitestone,” she corrected.  No one had called her Katarina since her grandfather died. She’d loved the way the hard sound of her middle
name had tripped off his tongue, like a lullaby, when  she was half asleep and he thought she couldn’t hear it.
“If you don’t leave this instant, I’ll have to notify the authorities.”
“I don’t think you’ll want to call the authorities after you hear what I’ve come to say.”
The man was speaking in riddles again. And Patience couldn’t take much more of his insolence—or the unsettling effect his strange behavior had on her. 
“Are you threatening me?” Patience bristled, surfacing from her fog and summoning a burst of energy. “Because I’m not alone here. Sallie will be
back in a minute, and I have a gun.” 
Lifting her chin with a defiant jerk, she tried for a look of bravado she
didn’t really feel. For all she knew, the man could be a criminal—a murderer—or her stalker.
“I’m no threat to you,” he assured her, as if he had the ability to read her mind.
“Tell me who you are, and I’ll be the judge of that.”
“My name is Nathaniel Morgan. You have something I want. And I have something you want. I think I may know who killed your grandfather.”
Patience faltered. The color drained from her face, replaced by a look of panic.
“What do you know about my grandfather’s death?” she demanded weakly as she faced him squarely, barely able to catch a breath, her knees about to buckle.
“More than you would want to know, I imagine, liebchen.” 
“Goodbye, liebchen,” were the last words her grandfather spoke to her. But how could this man have known that, unless he’d been there? And that would
mean… She could still see her grandfather’s blood on her hands. Still feel the thickness that had oozed from his wounds and soaked her bright coral sundress. She needed to be on guard, but suddenly she was exhausted, overcome by a languorous feeling and a sensation of dizziness. Her mind clouded. Her pulse pounded as lightheadedness overtook her.
BUY UNDER THE MOON GATE
Social Media Links:  
Web site: www.marilynbaron.com

Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4722647.Marilyn_Baron

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/under-moon-gate-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 15 Silver Sweethearts on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #historicalromance #firstsight http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 07 Jun 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-historicalromance-firstsight.html Each week a guest author shares a first meeting excerpt. Today I welcome Jackie Leigh Allen with her historical romance, Silver Sweethearts. Jackie enjoys traveling, and is always planning her next trip.

EXCERPT

Smoothing her blue traveling dress, Susan Marie Van Pelt picked up her carpetbag and stepped off the stage. Soon she’d see her beloved Papa. After ten years of reading letters, she’d hear him tell his wonderful stories.
Boldly, she met the gaze of the man with the watch, the most reputable looking man in the lot facing her. “Could you tell me the whereabouts of Joachim Van Pelt? He has a big mine here, the Silver Skates.”
Timer rubbed his jaw. “You’d better talk to Jed. He’s over to Lily’s. I’ll take ya.” He held his arm out stiffly in a parody of a city gentleman.
Timer walked her down the boardwalk lining the single block of the town, past the office of Henry Fox, Attorney at Law, and the tiny general store. At a break in the hitching rail that lined the street, he stepped off the walk and proceeded across the dirt street. Little puffs of dust rose with every footstep. He opened a door in a two-story building under a sign reading, LILY’S.
Papa had written about the hotel started by a woman named Lily. Susan admired a woman who took charge of her own life. She planned to do the same.
“In you go.” Timer waited politely for her to enter.
A redheaded boy and a gangly brown-haired youth appeared. “Ma’s out back with Jed,” said the older boy. He pointed toward the rear of the building.
“Adam, you and Johnny fetch the young lady’s bag from the saloon.” Timer’s request eased one of Susan’s worries.
Susan started toward the kitchen. 
“Better wait for Lily and Jed to come in here,” Timer said as he followed the two boys out the door.
Wait? Not one second longer.
She stepped out the back door and directly in front of her, a big red-haired woman enveloped in a white apron leaned over a tub.
“Lily?” Susan queried.
The woman turned toward her with a wet sponge in her hand that threatened to drip onto Susan’s skirt until she stepped back into the kitchen. 
“I’m Lily Maguire,” the woman said. She looked at Susan with wide blue eyes. “Who’re you?”
“Susan Van Pelt. I understand you knew my papa.”
Lily dropped the sponge behind her. “I surely did know your papa. He was a wonderful man.” 
“I’d like to speak with you about Papa and also with his partner. Could you direct me to Mr. Jedediah Miller?”
Lily’s body shook. Her face got red. A laugh emerged. “Sorry to appear unfeelin’, but Digger would have liked the humor.” She stepped to one side revealing the broad back of a large man with golden-brown, shoulder-length hair. 
The very large, very naked man sat in a tin tub with water up to his waist.
Frozen in place, Susan didn’t know any manners for this situation.
“Meet Jed Miller.” Lily whacked the man on the back. “Turn around and say hello to the lady.”
The man turned, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense. Water dripped from his mustache and beard to run in rivulets through the curly hair plastered against his chest. 
Susan jerked her gaze to his. His golden eyes blazed at her, thawing her chill. With his long tawny hair and topaz eyes, he looked like a wet lion. She’d seen one in the circus behind bars, but this one was free. She quivered inside.
Determined not to let the man see her trepidation, Susan stepped forward and extended her gloved hand. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Miller.”
Lily laughed. “I see you can take care of yourself. I’ll put the kettle on.” She went into the kitchen.
#   #   #
Jed watched the little lady step forward stiff as a cactus and about as friendly. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to join Papa. To take care of him.” She stared at him with eyes as blue as the clear Nevada sky. Her pale blonde hair gleamed like silver in the afternoon sun. 
Shaking his head to rid it of the fanciful idea, he sprayed her with his bath water.
Her gaze went down his chest, and her cheeks flushed pink as dawn. 
“If you’d turn your back, I’ll get some clothes on.” 
After she did, Jed stood, grabbed a length of toweling from a stool by the tub and wrapped it around him. Digger was dead. How could she take care of him?
“I took care of your pa.” Jed had done his best, but hadn’t been able to save Digger.
“I wish I’d gotten to see him before he died.” She sounded ready to cry. Digger would have soothed her with flowery words, but Jed didn’t know how.
Pulling on his drawers, he puzzled over her presence. His wire had told her to stay in the East and he’d send her share of the silver at summer’s end.
“Are you decently covered?” Her voice quavered.
“Almost.” He stepped into his denim pants. “There.” He attacked his hair and beard with the toweling as she turned.
Her blue eyes widened as her gaze fastened on his chest. “You aren’t covered,” she accused.
“Hell, I’m decent.”
“There is no need to swear at me.” She tilted that Van Pelt chin at him just like Digger used to when he dug in his stubborn heels. 
Damn. She was a complication he didn’t need.

END OF EXCERPT
I love the description of the hero as a lion, and the heroine finding her lion at his bath.
You can find Silver Sweetheart here http://tinyurl.com/oojrp9z
 Jackie invites you to visit her at JackieLeighAllen.com

We welcome comments and questions. I hope you’ll come back each Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday.


]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/06/silver-sweethearts-on-first-sight.html/feed 4 To Tame A Highland Earl on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #lovehistoricals http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/to-tame-highland-earl-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/to-tame-highland-earl-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 31 May 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/to-tame-a-highland-earl-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-lovehistoricals.html Each week I welcome a guest to share a first meeting excerpt. Today on First Sight Saturday, Tarah Scott shares a scene from her historical romance, To Tame A Highland Earl. Fun fact about Tarah: in her twenties she wrote and performed music.

SETUP OF SCENE: Erroll MacLean, Earl of Rushton, has spent the last five hours chasing after the woman who accused him of compromising her. He finally caught up with her at the inn where she is staying the night.
EXCERPT:
March 1807
Manchester, England
Erroll quietly unlocked the door, slipped into the darkened room, then eased the door shut and slipped the key into his pocket. Faint moonlight filtered in through thin curtains and outlined the sleeping figure in the bed. Erroll crept forward until he reached the bed. He braced a knee against the side of the mattress, then placed a hand on each side of the woman and brought his face to within an inch of hers.
 She shifted in her sleep and lush breasts grazed his chest. He wondered how long it would be before she became aware a man was in her bed, then concluded that since she hadn’t awoken with a shriek she must be accustomed to having a man in her bed. He should ravish her as she’d said he had just for good measure. The thought froze at the pressure of a pistol jammed against his abdomen.
“I am a crack shot.” The feminine voice was steady—as was the hand holding the gun. “But even the worst shot in Great Britain couldn’t miss.” The gun dug deeper into his belly. “Move away.”
Erroll considered. Her calm response to his presence almost made him think she’d expected him. “If I’m to be shot, I should at least commit the crime for which I’m accused.” The click of the pistol’s hammer being pulled back was his answer. “I see you do not agree.” He straightened off the bed.
“Step back,” she ordered.
He retreated two paces.
“More.”
He moved back another two paces.
“I promise you, sir, my aim is as true at such short a distance as it was when you were an inch from my face. Back against the door.”
Erroll complied. A light click indicated she had released the hammer back into place. She rose, a small figure in the shadows, and picked up something from the night table. The clink of glass was followed by the scrape of a match on wood, then light flared and he got his first look at the woman who claimed he had ravished away her innocence. Dark brown eyes pinned him with a hard stare. Honey-brown hair tumbled down her shoulders. The top of her head was no higher than his chest. 
The muff pistol remained pointed at him as her attention shifted to the lamp on the nightstand. She bent slightly and her full breasts strained against the nightgown as she lit the wick. His cock jerked and he couldn’t deny his good fortune in not having met her at Lady Baldwin’s party. He very well might have fallen prey to her charms and been guilty of her accusations.
She blew out the match and tossed it onto a metal tray, then took a step toward him. The lamplight illuminated the outline of her body through the nightgown. The curves he discerned were fuller than were fashionable and the kind he’d sought without success. His cock began to lift. He might end up shot after all.
“You are no common housebreaker,” she said. “Who are you?”
 Erroll’s mind snapped to attention. The wench didn’t recognize him. Fury doused his lust. He gave a mocking smile and bowed. “Lord Erroll Rushton, at your service.”
Shock registered on her face, then an answering fire appeared in her eyes. “I see we shall have to break you of the habit of entering a lady’s room uninvited.”
“You use the term lady too loosely.”
“That is the pot calling the kettle black.”
He nearly laughed.
“One would think a prospective groom could keep his cock in his pants with his wedding but two days hence,” she said.
“Three days,” Erroll corrected. That was how long it would take him to get the special license his father ordered him to procure. “Pray tell, what sort of lady carries a gun?” He didn’t ask what lady used the word ‘cock’ as easily as the word ‘groom?’ That was perhaps too obvious.
“The sort who knows what to expect of a man,” she replied.
“The very sort who understands a man might object to being forced into marriage?” he said.
She gave a derisive laugh. “You are a rakehell, sir.”
“I never denied being a rake, madam, but I am no liar.”
She wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d been told this was to be her second season, but this woman was no debutante and, given the way she unabashedly stood before him in her nightclothes, he would wager she was no virgin. 
“Surely, you’re a little old for this game?” he drawled.
Her brow knit, but he detected no shame. She was too collected. But a level head—along with a liberal dose of nerve—is exactly what it took to accuse a complete stranger of compromising her.
“Did you really think you could get away with it?” she asked.
The question startled him.
“Now who is the pot calling the kettle black?” he said. She shifted and Erroll could have sworn he discerned a dark patch between her legs. “A shame we met under these circumstances.” He flicked a glance at her breasts. “We could have been friends.”
Her mouth thinned. “By God, I really should shoot you.”
“Tut tut, love, not until the vows are said and I claim what is left of your virtue.”
She drew in a sharp breath.
“Your righteous anger is completely undone by the fact that you’re nearly naked.”
END OF EXCERPT
Sounds like these two have a long way to go to become a match made in heaven.
To find out how they make it there, get your copy of To Tame A Highland Earl

Tarah and I welcome your questions and comments. Make sure to come back each First Sight Saturday for a new excerpt from a guest author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/to-tame-highland-earl-on-first-sight.html/feed 4 A Bowl Of Rice on First Sight Saturday #excerpt #historicalfiction #firstsight http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/a-bowl-of-rice-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/a-bowl-of-rice-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 24 May 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/a-bowl-of-rice-on-first-sight-saturday-excerpt-historicalfiction-firstsight.html Each week a guest shares a first meeting excerpt. Today on First Sight Saturday, Joan Leotta brings us a scene from A Bowl of Rice, her historical fiction work in which a nurse travels with two eligible young men.

Setup of scene:
Anna Maria, the heroine, is in Vietnam. She is visiting an orphanage with boyfriend number two who seems more attracted to their French-Vietnamese guide than to her. Someone else is on the trip too. She does not react to his qualities right away, but he is certainly a contrast to the guy she is with!
EXCERPT

The other man shook the offered hand. “I’m Captain George Wilkins. Since we’re all on leave today and going off base, both of you, just call me George.” He gestured toward the woman at his side. “This is Desiree Roux.”
Mark blinked. The Vietnamese woman smiled and spoke. “My father is French. We live here in Hue for six months a year and in his hometown of Nice for six months each year.”
Mark seemed at a loss for words, so Anna Maria introduced herself. “I’m Anna Maria O’Shea, a nurse at the evac, coming along to see the puppet show.”
“It will be my pleasure to translate for all of you,” Desiree said.
“Where did you learn to speak English so well?” Mark asked.
“We lived in Hawaii for a couple of years when I was young. My father’s business took him there and they put me in a local school so I could learn English.”
Anna Maria glanced at Mark. He was totally focused on Desiree’s beautiful face.
Anna Maria felt a bit hurt, even angry. After all, he was her date. However, it only took a few minutes for her mood to shift. The all-controlling Doctor Mark was under the spell of the lovely Desiree.
He seemed unaware of anyone or anything around him except for the lovely French Vietnamese girl. Anna Maria mused softly, but aloud to no one in particular, as she turned away to look at their surroundings, “No reason for me to feel anything. We have not even shared a kiss, just a few coffees and meals on base. This would have been our first real date. Now I’m more like a chaperone.”
Anna Maria looked past Mark and smiled at Desiree. The young woman returned Anna Maria’s smile.
George smiled at Anna Maria. Hmm, thought Anna Maria, perhaps I should be thinking about him. She put that thought out of her head. This captain wasn’t in her unit. In fact, from his uniform, it appeared he was Special Forces. No chance of them ever meeting again, so no use investing any time. Suddenly she realized the captain was addressing Mark and her.


Joan’s website/blog. She is trying to reach 500 “Likes”, so be generous with your clicks!

Buy Link for A Bowl of Rice

Joan and I welcome your questions or comments. Make sure you return each First Sight Saturday for a fresh excerpt from a new guest author.
]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/a-bowl-of-rice-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 5 Dream Student on First Sight Saturday #firstmeeting #excerpt #NewAdult http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday.html#comments Sat, 17 May 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday-firstmeeting-excerpt-newadult.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today on First Sight Saturday, I’m joined by J.J. DiBenedetto with a New Adult Paranormal Romantic Suspense call Dream Student (Dream Series, Book1). And isn’t this a beautiful cover?

A fun fact about J.J.:  I was married at Graceland — in the private chapel on the Elvis Presley estate.

I have to admit that is the first time anyone has had that fun fact.  LOL

So, on to the first meeting!

EXCERPT

So we’re wandering over to the bar.  I look over at a table in one corner with a red and gold neon fighter plane hanging right above it.  My eighth grade boyfriend would have known exactly what it was called and all the vital statistics about it.  I just think it looks kind of funny.  And…
And what?
…Sara is in the stands, watching a basketball game, watching herself down on the court cheering for a tall, dark-haired guy who’s getting ready to take a shot.  Watching herself, watching someone else who’s dreaming about her…
It’s him.  The guy at the table under the fighter plane is the guy on the court.  The one from the dream.  It’s definitely, absolutely, bet-my-life-on-it him.  That’s impossible, isn’t it?  It wasn’t real, he wasn’t real.  It was just a stupid, weird dream.  But he’s sitting right over there!
And so what?  I’m in uncharted territory here, but I know it has to mean something.  I didn’t just dream about him.  I was inside his head, or he was inside mine.  Whichever.  There was him, and then there were the nightmares.  
At least the dream with him, as weird as it felt, wasn’t all creepy and horrible.  Actually, if you take away the weird, it didn’t feel bad at all.  So if the nightmares are making me crazy, maybe this guy will–what?  Make the nightmares stop?  Make me sane again?  I don’t know, but I have to find out.
 “Hey, what’s going on?”
It’s Beth.  I assume she’s wondering why I stopped dead in my tracks and why I’m staring at some random guy.  “Nothing.  I just need to talk to somebody over there.  You go get a drink, I’ll find you in a little while.”
I don’t wait for an answer.  I head straight for my mystery man.
***
I’ve seen love at first sight happen.  When I say that, I mean two people seeing each other for the first time and the moment their eyes meet there’s an instant connection.  It’s almost like electricity, everybody in the room can feel it.  I’ve been there when it happened, and there’s no doubt at all that’s what it was.  Say what you want about it being silly or sappy or just plain BS, I don’t care.  I know it’s real. 
That’s what it feels like when I’m halfway over to him, and he turns his head, sees me, and we make eye contact.  Everything else disappears.  There’s me and him and nothing else in the world.  We’re connected.  I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.
And now I’m there and he’s staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real.  It’s OK, I feel the same way.  I reach out, put my hand on his arm and I really expect to feel sparks or something, but I don’t.  It’s just him, just the fabric of his shirt.  
I slide my hand down his arm and I can feel the goosebumps as I go.  I’ve got them too.  I take his hand, and now I’m pulling him away from the table and everything else is starting to come back.  It’s louder than it seemed a few minutes ago, and it feels much too crowded all of a sudden, and what I need right this second is quiet and just him.
 “We have to talk,” I whisper in his ear, and he doesn’t say anything but he does follow me.  There’s a back door, it looks like there’s a patio for when the weather’s nice.  I head for it, and I need it to be open and it is and out we go.
I don’t feel the cold at all.  It’s perfect, just the two of us, and with the door closed the noise from the club is all drowned out.  He can feel it, too.  He knows we’re connected; he knows this is exactly where we’re supposed to be the same way I do.  Neither of us says anything at first.  We’re just looking at each other, trying to think of the appropriate words.  The silence goes on for probably only a few seconds, but it feels like minutes or even hours.
Enough.  I say the first thing that pops into my head: “You’ve been spending your nights with me.  I think I deserve to know your name.”  No, that’s all wrong!  “God, did I really say that?”  He nods his head.  “I’m sorry, let me start again.  I’m Sara, and I don’t know who you are.”
He looks so nervous, he’s got exactly the same expression my dog Lumpy gets whenever someone starts up the lawnmower.  It’s a long story.  He manages to shake my hand.  “Brian Alderson,” he says, but I guess he doesn’t think that’s enough.  “I’ve been dreaming about you.”
Now I think about it, I have seen him before–outside the dream, I mean.  I’ve seen him on campus.  He’s–I think he lives over in Allen House, the dorm right next to mine.  Which means he lives probably two or three hundred feet away from me.  I never really gave him any special notice before, but now that he’s right in front of me, he actually is kind of handsome.  He’s on the tall side and pretty slim and he’s got short, dark hair and the brownest brown eyes I think I’ve ever seen.  
And besides all that, we’ve got some kind of psychic connection, apparently.  I can keep telling myself that I don’t believe in it, but I can’t ignore the fact that it’s happening to me anyway.  “I know.  I was there, remember?”  He nods.  He still looks nervous, worse than poor Lumpy ever gets.  I reach over and take his hands in mine.  “Calm down, OK?  I’m nervous enough for the both of us.”
He relaxes, almost.  At least he looks slightly less nervous.  But to be fair, why shouldn’t he be nervous, too?  This has to be just as weird for him as it is for me.  “You’re not–not angry about it?” he stammers.  “I mean, I understand if you are.”
Angry?  Not at all.  Freaked out?  Yes, very much.  But not angry.  “No.  Why should I be?  I’m–I’m flattered, I guess.  I didn’t think anyone dreamed about me like that.”  If I hadn’t seen it, I never would have believed I was a part of anybody’s romantic fantasies.
END OF EXCERPT
Interesting premise, to know there is going to be a connection before you actually meet. Love before first sight!
Links to purchase Dream Student and to find J.J.
Links:


J.J. and I both welcome questions and comments. Come back next week for a first meeting excerpt on First Sight Saturday. And in case you’re wondering why I have a New Adult author visiting…hmmm…could this be a hint of things to come?


]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/dream-student-on-first-sight-saturday.html/feed 4 Mistress of Merrivale on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/mistress-of-merrivale-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/mistress-of-merrivale-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 10 May 2014 07:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/mistress-of-merrivale-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week a guest author shares an excerpt of a first meeting. Today Shelley Munro joins me for First Sight Saturday with her slightly mysterious historical romance, Mistress of Merrivale.

Here is a fun fact from Shelley:  About ten years ago, despite my protests, my husband purchased two bicycles. I’d never owned a bike before and thought it was a waste of money. Now, all these years later, I go for an eight kilometer bike ride most days. My husband hasn’t ridden his bike for months. I’ve fallen off three times—don’t ask!—and the last time ended up with a black eye. My husband refused to walk with me at the shopping mall because people kept giving us weird looks!

Well, Shelley, we have something in common though somewhat reversed. My husband is an avid mountain biker while my bike sits neglected for months (years) at a time. Bruises and cuts are normal for him, though he’s never gotten a black eye!

On to the excerpt…where a courtesan meets the man who wants to marry her.

Excerpt:
Woodley tapped on the parlor door and entered. “Mr. Leo Sherbourne to see you.”
“Show him in, Woodley.” Amazed at her calm voice, she concentrated on presenting a serene front.
Woodley directed Mr. Sherbourne into the parlor, and she forced her lips to curve upward when she really wanted to gasp aloud.
Leo Sherbourne was stunningly handsome, his dark eyes piercing and direct. Taller than Melburn, he’d clubbed his midnight black hair in a tail, and this highlighted the stark planes of his face, his olive complexion. Impeccably dressed in a navy blue suit with a pale blue waistcoat embroidered in a deeper blue, he appeared the wealthy gentleman. His choice of color matched her attire perfectly. A sign, perhaps.
“Good morning, Mr. Sherbourne.” She finally rediscovered her manners.
“Miss Townsend.” He regarded her steadily and not a measure of flirtation showed on his features. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.” His deep voice caressed her senses, and she stared, mesmerized for an instant. He was…unexpected. Why would he want to take her as his wife? Young misses likely fluttered their eyelashes at him in flirtation, and she imagined older, more experienced women offered to jump into his bed on a regular basis. He didn’t seem like a man who’d experience difficulty in attracting the fairer sex.
“Please take a seat,” Jocelyn said, her mind twisting and prodding this new development. Her right hand rose to check her cap, and she forced herself to still the self-conscious action. Despite her fidgeting, her cap was likely still straight and hid a large portion of her red hair.
He waited until she seated herself before taking possession of the same chair his cousin had sat on the previous night.
“Why are you entertaining marriage with me, given my history?” Jocelyn almost winced at her forthrightness. She caught the flash of surprise in him, the slight narrowing of his eyes then his slow smile. Her heart beat a little faster at his approval. It seemed devastating smiles were one trait borne by both cousins. She found it difficult to focus with his full attention directed at her, almost impossible not to gasp at her physical reaction to his potent masculinity.
“I have a young daughter and require help with her.”
“Forgive me, but surely there is no shortage of women willing to accept you as husband.” More candor. This was not the impression she wanted to present, yet she required answers. To her relief, he didn’t take umbrage and merely scrutinized her closely in return.
“My first marriage wasn’t an enjoyable experience. This time I seek a marriage where both parties know their duty from the beginning and are under no illusion as to how the liaison will proceed—the way I want.”
Well, he was blunt too. Jocelyn wrenched her gaze from his face and concentrated on her lightly clasped hands. The romantic part of her faded under reality. This wasn’t a love match. She had to remember that, yet the situation was strange. He hadn’t told her everything. There was more. She lifted her head. “Did you beat your wife?”
His dark brows shot upward. “I’m not a brute.” He half stood as if he intended to leave, and her hand shot out to grasp his forearm. Muscles flexed beneath her fingers, leading her thoughts directly to the marriage bed. Like a hot coal, his heat burned her palm, and she released her hold.
“Forgive me. Please, don’t leave. This is an unusual situation and my nerves are ruling my manners. Stay. Tell me exactly what you expect from me.”
Instead of sitting again, he prowled the parlor, putting her in mind of a caged beast. And, despite her growing alarm that she’d destroyed any chance of a marriage, she couldn’t tear her gaze off him. He was a man in his prime, strong and sure of himself—an attractive quality in a husband. Her breasts prickled against her chemise, and her stays felt suddenly unbearably tight. Heat bloomed between her legs. The unusual reaction took her by surprise.
Mr. Sherbourne ceased his pacing and spun to face her. Determination etched his face, giving him the look of cool marble. “I want a wife who gives her loyalty to me, a woman to raise my child and warm my bed. Someone to instill order in my home and do things the way I direct.”
Jocelyn nodded. That sounded reasonable. “And what would I receive in return?”
“In return, my wife will receive the security of my name and home. She’ll want for nothing, and I hope she’ll find happiness.”
“What about my past relationship with Melburn? If I agree to wed you, there might be times when we socialize with Melburn and his new wife. Will that create difficulties?”
He laughed softly, a gleam entering his eyes. “Are you asking if I’ll experience jealousy?”
“Yes.” Nothing like a little honesty to get to the heart of a matter.
“Melburn and I have discussed this. He told me if you agreed to marry me, you’d also give your loyalty. He said you possess both honor and discretion. Integrity. I hadn’t heard a single rumor of your relationship. This reassures me that we might suit. Will you miss your close…friendship with Melburn?”
“Melburn and I have always been friends. I hope our friendship will continue in the future—in a platonic way, of course. Your cousin is right in that I refuse to play games or pit gentlemen against each other to ensure a better offer or a richer lover. If I agree to become your wife, you’ll receive everything you require in a spouse.”
His brows rose again. “It’s not often a woman surprises me.”
“I’m not an ordinary woman.”
END OF EXCERPT
I can see the fire getting ready to kindle for these two already! You can find Mistress of Merrivale at the following vendors.
All Romance ebooks http://bit.ly/RjmH1W
To keep in touch with Shelley Munro, visit her here:

Shelley and I both welcome your questions and comments. Be sure to stop by every Saturday for a new excerpt from a visiting author on First Sight Saturday.

]]> http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/05/mistress-of-merrivale-on-first-sight.html/feed 7 Scoundrel for Hire on First Sight Saturday http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight.html http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight.html#comments Sat, 26 Apr 2014 11:00:00 +0000 http://www.jillhughey.com/2014/04/scoundrel-for-hire-on-first-sight-saturday.html Each week I welcome a guest author to share a first meeting excerpt. Today I’m joined by fellow Love Historicals author Adrienne deWolfe with her historical western romance, Scoundrel for Hire, which Adrienne describes as a drawing room comedy. Scoundrel for Hire is book 1 in the Velvet Lies series.

I asked Adrienne for one fun fact, and she gave me five about herself and her book.

1) Rafe is Adrienne’s first rogue hero – and one of her funniest.  
2) Adrienne’s all-time favorite historical novel is THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. In fact, she spoofed Percy Blakeney from PIMPERNEL when she created Rafe’s alter-ego, “Lord Chumley.” 
3) Adrienne’s favorite novel line from SCOUNDREL:  “Any man that full of himself has got to be constipated.” ~ Rafe Jones 
4) Adrienne set out to write a farce, so she gave Rafe an orphaned baby otter as a pet. The otter’s mother never got around to teaching her how to swim. So guess who has to do it – in the heroine’s bathtub?  
5) Adrienne is donating a portion of her royalties from SCOUNDREL and the rest of the Velvet Lies Series to urban reforestation efforts. 
SETUP OF SCENE:
Raphael Jones is a Kentucky-born scoundrel, who has never played by the rules. When Colorado mining heiress, Silver Nichols, hires him to stop her precious daddy from marrying a golddigger, Rafe sets out to seduce Silver and win her fortune.  But beneath Silver’s cool veneer, Rafe encounters a sweet vulnerability and an aching secret that threatens to send his whole world up in smoke. Now the wily scoundrel must choose: walk away or wager the one thing he can’t afford to lose—his heart.
EXCERPT
A gentle “Eh-hem” and the captivating whiff of lavender distracted Rafe from his worries about Fred’s mining hoax. To his surprise, he found Silver Nichols standing companionably by his side. The corner of her mouth curved in a half-smile. 
“I suppose,” she murmured, “the gentleman with the, er, diamonds is a friend of yours?” 
The velvety timbre of her voice claimed his attention more thoroughly than a clap of thunder. He hadn’t expected a mining heiress to sound like she looked: rich. Sinfully rich. He was entertaining a delicious vision of hot fudge and cherries, when the full implication of her words slammed into his brain. 
“I beg your pardon?” 
“The man in the top hat. I daresay he’s your accomplice?” 
Somehow, Rafe managed not to choke on his tongue. “My dear young woman, I fail to understand—” 
“I rather doubt that,” she cut in smoothly. “You look much too intelligent. Canny, in fact. However, I am willing to believe that you are naive about the swift justice that mining juries dole out.” She turned once more to watch Fred’s con, playing out so flawlessly before them. “So let me give you a tip. The geologist you’re impersonating is about two-thirds your height, twice your weight, and his pate is just shy of bald.” 
Rafe entertained a vision of throttling Fred, who had assured him that Bartholomew Markham, the renowned Pennsylvania geologist, hadn’t set foot in a western mining town since the war. 
However, Rafe hadn’t spent the last fifteen years as a professional flimflam artist to let some cheeky millionaire’s daughter get the upper hand now. He eyed Silver with a nerve that he’d honed at fourteen, bluffing his way through Shakespeare’s Juliet, while all-male audiences had pelted him with tomatoes. 
“Good heavens.” He chuckled. “Uncle Bartie and I look nothing alike. Now I’m beginning to understand your confusion, Miss Nichols.” 
He could feel her appraising gaze poring over him with the same attention that a bookkeeper might use on accounts. He couldn’t help but lament the irony. Here he was, standing thigh to thigh with an unmarried heiress, and he was insisting that he was some middle-aged greenhorn with a paunch! 
“So you claim to be Mr. Markham’s nephew,” she said slowly, an unmistakable lilt in her voice. “You must be from Philadelphia, then.” 
“The Cradle of Liberty itself.” 
“How delightful,” she drawled. “I’m from Philadelphia, too.” 
“Yes, well, I, er, was merely born there,” he recovered as gracefully as he could. Damn her anyway. Was she really from Philadelphia? 
Unable to take that chance, he hastened to add, “I spent most of my youth in…” Hesitating, he cast her a sideways glance. Where would a lawless sport be safe from female busy bodies? “…Abilene. And later, in Dodge City.” 
“Dodge City? Oh my.” Her eyes twinkled like twin stars as they laughed up at him. “A geologist in a cowtown. I can just imagine what you must have dug up.” 
He glowered at her. 
“So tell me Mr. Kansas geologist,” she purred, “in what sort of rock formation might one find bituminous coal?” 
Their eyes locked. 
Rafe’s heart sank. He didn’t have the vaguest idea.
END OF EXCERPT
You can find Adrienne’s books at these places

You can find Adrienne at these places:
Twitter (Novel Writing Tips & News) http://twitter.com/AdriennedeWolfe 
Twitter (Gratitude & Positive Thinking) http://Twitter.com/SolDawn 
Twitter (Fantasy Fiction) http://Twitter.com/SolMage 
Adrienne and I welcome any  questions and comments. Come back each Saturday for a new first meeting excerpt from a visiting author.
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