Monday, March 31, 2014

The Challenges of Writing in First Person

Yesterday I wrote about the upside of writing in first person. You can read that post here.

Today I want to mention a couple of the challenges of writing in first person.

Descriptions. 

When I talked to Anthongy Walsh of The Cover Artisan about the cover I told him that Sarah had blonde hair and blue eyes. Then neither of us could find a picture of a blonde that we liked so we went with a brunette. After that I scoured the manuscript looking for references to Sarah's hair color so I could make sure it fit with the cover.

Guess what...I'd never mentioned the color. Now, it might be in some of the parts I deleted (and there are a lot of them), but the final copy never mentioned her hair color.

I think that's part of the challenge of first person. Does a heroine (at least not an unlikeable and vain one) say "And then my golden tresses tumbled around my shoulders"? But, in third person, the hero might thinkg "The sight of her golden tresses tumbling around her shoulders always made his heart beat faster."

Was the lack of a description a major problem? I don't think so. It gives readers the opportunity to sort of picture her how they want.

Developing the other characters. 

This is a little more challenging. Way back when I first started reading Harlquin Romances they were all written in third person point of view, but always from the heroine's perspective. More recently, romances are a combination of scenes from both the hero and heroine's point of view. I think most people like to see both main characters' thougths and reactions to the developing relationship.

So when I wrote Becoming Lady Amherst in first person, developing the character of Lord Amherst was more challenging. I could only use his actions and words and then Sarah's reactions to them.

I think (if I do say so myself) that this first encounter with Lord Amherst gives us some good glimpeses of his personality. What do you think?

 Later in the evening, while standing near an open window seeking fresh air, I overheard a man—I had no reason to believe him a gentleman—maligning Americans as nothing more than the bastard sons of the devil.

Well, I could hardly allow something so offensive to go unchallenged. If Father had heard him, he would have boxed the young upstart’s ears, but since the honor of my country was left to me to defend, I did my part.

I tapped the blowhard on the shoulder. “Pardon me, sir,”

When he turned, I struggled to keep my composure, as he was without a doubt the most strikingly handsome man in all of either America or England. My breath caught in my throat as his dark eyes peered down at me. The corners of his mouth turned up in a sly smile.

“How may I be of service to you, miss?” His sultry voice wafted over me until I nearly forgot my pique, but seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eye reminded me.

“You forget, sir, the Americans, who are the sons of the devil as you say, also bested your country in two wars.”

“We only sent hired soldiers to fight the bloody Americans. An army of real British soldiers would have done the job handily.”

“What a thing to say. Have you no respect for your countrymen who died at war?” I glared up at him with a bounty of Yankee scorn.

Finally, he laughed. “My, you are not afraid to speak your mind, now are you? Hardly surprising. Americans are an untamed lot who do not know how to train their women either.”

He smiled down at me. Perhaps he meant to be funny. In no mood for his humor or insults to my country, I stomped on his toe. Hard. Though my petite feet were only ensconced in dancing slippers, he winced. Whether from pain or surprise, I did not know.
Thereupon, the scoundrel took me by the arm and led me—very unceremoniously, I might add—onto the terrace.
“What are you doing?” Straining not to show my alarm, I glanced over my shoulder at the other guests, but they were engaged with the dance. No one seemed to notice us, not even the ever-vigilant Mrs. White, who, it turns out, spent more than her fair share of time sipping brandy instead of lemonade.

However, while being escorted outdoors, that woman was the least of my concerns.

This stranger, who had not even been polite enough to introduce himself, put his hand at the small of my back, guiding me to a bench on the far corner of the terrace. Unaware of his intentions, I knew being there with him, alone, was highly improper. Yet the scorch from his touch above my bottom compelled me to comply without protest.

What spell had he cast over me?

He did not answer my question, but once we reached the bench, he placed one foot upon it then bent me over his knee.

“How dare you? Unhand me!” I hissed through gritted teeth. Shouting from the rooftops would have been preferable, but drawing attention to myself or my indecorous situation was unthinkable.

“It is obvious that you, my little Yankee girl, need a lesson in manners, which is precisely what you are about to receive.” Thereupon, the brute swatted my upturned behind.

I can only be thankful for the many layers of my gown because, although shocking, the swat was not painful. “You spank like an old lady. Or a British lord. ’Tis hard to tell the difference.” Horror at the implications of my words chilled my blood. Perhaps lessons in keeping my mouth shut were not out of the question.

A rustle of fabric, and my skirts flipped up over my back and mussed my hair. I struggled against what he intended, particularly irritated over the damage to my coiffure. Two maids had spent an inordinate amount of time arranging my free-spirited locks to meet Mrs. White’s specifications. She would not be pleased to see me return to the dance floor with my hair out of place. As she liked to say in response to nearly every question, “It simply is not done.”

A cool breeze blew across the slit of my pantalets. I inhaled sharply in response to my exposure to the night air, as well as a stranger, in such a manner. His hand cracked down on my barely covered backside. I gasped with the impact.

“I bet that did not feel like a spanking from an old lady.” The cocksure gentleman adjusted my torso for a better angle and landed another swat on my bottom.

“I do not know what you people here call a spanking, but my grandmother spanks harder than that.”
Why could I never learn my lesson?

Usually, my manner was not so contrary. Of course, I did not often encounter men who excited my ire so profoundly, either.

I must have had a similar effect on the man who imprisoned me over his knee because he wrapped his arm around my waist, pulled me closer to restrain my movements, and proceeded to lay into my buttocks in a manner fit to make any grandmother proud.

I lost count of the number of times the swine’s hand landed on my upturned cheeks, but he struck it repeatedly. My delicate flesh warmed quickly under his assault. I kicked my feet in an attempt to impede his efforts, though rather than slowing him, my efforts made him laugh. “You are quite the little hellion, Yankee girl.”

“Stop calling me that.” My jaw clenched in anger and resolution.

“Since you have not told me your real name, what choice is there?” Although he exerted himself thoroughly in my punishment, which continued unabated, he spoke as calmly as if he were reading the news.

I am not proud of this, if asked directly to verify its accuracy, I may not be so honest in the future, but I shall confess it here.

While teetering across his knee, I worked up an impressive amount of saliva, which I then projected onto his shoe with both accuracy and delight.

He paused in his efforts to scorch my rump, set me on my feet—my skirts thankfully fell back into place over my throbbing bottom—then stared down at his sputum-adorned shoe.

He bit his lip. For the second time in as many minutes, my own sanity came into question.

I stood next to him, gasping for air because my position across his knee, as well as my own trepidation over the consequences of my actions, had made it difficult to fill my lungs sufficiently.

My captor’s hand rested gently on my arm, while I scanned the terrace, considering the possibility of escape. But before I could take action, a familiar voice called me.

“Miss McLean! There you are. I have been quite frantic in searching for you.” Mrs. White, red-faced from exertion coupled with brandy, huffed and puffed in my direction. She took firm hold of my arm. 

“Hurry, now. You are to dance the next with Lord Amherst. He is the prize catch of the season, so you must be on your best behavior.”

Stunned she would speak so in front of the oaf who dragged me onto the terrace in the first place, I peeked around to read his reaction to her words, but he had vanished.

Had the whole thing taken place in my imagination? The burn in my tail end indicated it had been all too real.

I straightened my skirts and patted my hair in preparation for my new dance partner. The bully was gone, along with my thoughts of him.

As we approached the dance floor, the bitter widow squinted at my coiffure and tsked in dismay. “Honestly, Sarah, how did you manage to get your hair into such a frazzle already?”

There was no way to explain to her how hanging upside down over a man’s knee made it challenging to maintain one’s hairstyle, so I was grateful when she took her attention away from me to focus it on our hostess, Lady Waterford who presented my next partner. “Miss McLean, please allow me to introduce Lord Amherst. He is most eager to make your acquaintance.”

I curtsied like a trained pet, as was expected of me. Glancing up from my lowered position, I stared straight into the smirking face of…Lord Spanked My Ass.

He bowed and gave me a dimpled, devilish grin. “I am pleased to meet you, Miss McLean.”

Unsure of how to answer, yet determined not to let my irritation show, at least not to anyone other than my unwanted partner, I simply nodded in reply before he led me to the dance floor.

I waited stiffly by his side, resolved only to engage with him as mandated by the dance. He had other ideas and turned into quite the chatterbox.

“I apologize for not escorting you back inside, but I feared the reaction of your chaperone might have been unpleasant for both of us.”

“How thoughtful of you.”

“Had we been found alone together, the scandal would have been sufficient to force a marriage between us.”

“Marriage? Is it not bad enough that you manhandled me, but now you add threats?”

“Manhandled? You said I spanked like an old lady.” I would swear he smirked.

“You do, at best. I referred to the manner in which you hauled me away from polite society in an attempt to damage my reputation.”

“I believe I did put a little bit of sting to your ‘reputation.’” The bastard had the audacity to wink at me.


“Besides”—he took my small hand and enveloped it in the same hand that minutes before assaulted my derriere—“I had to attend to my blemished shoe. I certainly could not dance with the most eligible young lady at the ball with spittle on my footwear, now could I?”


Get your copy of Becoming Lady Amherst and read the rest of the story. 


Amazon UK 


Barnes and Noble

Blushig Books 

Becoming Lady Amherst Blurb:

When Miss Sarah McLean causes a scandal in Boston, her father takes her to London in search of a husband.

At her first party, Sarah insults Lord Amherst who takes her over his knee to spank some manners into her. When this spanking comes to light, Sarah's father offers him a choice: Marry Sarah or send her back to America where she has no prospects for a husband.

Intrigued by the spirited Yankee Girl, Lord Amherst proposes.

Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Sarah and Jeffrey form a bond and appear headed for a bright future. That is, until Sarah pretends to be someone she's not.

Note: This books contains spanking, domestic discipline, and graphic sex.

Sunday, March 30, 2014

The Upside Of Writing In First Person

Becoming Lady Amherst is written in first person point of view. All of my other published books (I have another first person POV story that hasn't been published yet) are written in third person.

Writing in first person is sort of fun because you feel more like you are telling a story to a friend.

A cool breeze blew across the slit of my pantalets. I inhaled sharply in response to my exposure to the night air, as well as a stranger, in such a manner. His hand cracked down on my barely covered backside. I gasped with the impact.

“I bet that did not feel like a spanking from an old lady.” The cocksure gentleman adjusted my torso for a better angle and landed another swat on my bottom.

“I do not know what you people here call a spanking, but my grandmother spanks harder than that.”


Why could I never learn my lesson?

I think it also helps the reader to identify (and hopefully like) the heroine (or the point of view character). 

There's also the question of the reliability of the person telling the story. 
I straightened my skirts and patted my hair in preparation for my new dance partner. The bully was gone, along with my thoughts of him.

As we approached the dance floor, the bitter widow squinted at my coiffure and tsked in dismay. “Honestly, Sarah, how did you manage to get your hair into such a frazzle already?”

There was no way to explain to her how hanging upside down over a man’s knee made it challenging to maintain one’s hairstyle, so I was grateful when she took her attention away from me to focus it on our hostess, Lady Waterford who presented my next partner.

Notice the word "bitter" describing Mrs. White (Sarah's nemesis). An editor highlighted that word and said "We don't have any proof that she's bitter." 

I thought about the comment a bit and decided to leave the word in. Whether there is proof that she's bitter or not, Sarah, the storyteller, believes she is and that's what matters. 

How do you feel about stories written in first person? 

Becoming Lady Amherst Blurb: 
When Miss Sarah McLean causes a scandal in Boston, her father takes her to London in search of a husband.

At her first party, Sarah insults Lord Amherst who takes her over his knee to spank some manners into her. When this spanking come to light, Sarah's father offers him a choice: Marry Sarah or send her back to America where she has no prospects for a husband.

Intrigued by the spirited Yankee Girl, Lord Amherst proposes.

Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Sarah and Jeffrey form a bond and appear headed for a bright future.

That is, until Sarah pretends to be someone she's not.



Note: This books contains spanking, domestic discipline, and graphic sex.

Get your copy: 





Friday, March 28, 2014

Saturday #Spankings from Becoming Lady Amherst

Finally! Becoming Lady Amherst is available. Thank you to all the Saturday Spankers who helped me pick a title and who enjoyed the excerpts over the last few weeks And now, you can buy the whole book. In fact, I encourage you to do so. :)

This snippet follows a few lines after last week's "I am not a brat!" excerpt. Sarah has been ordered to go upstairs, strip and stand in the corner to wait for Jeffrey. She has some trouble getting out of her dress.





It was no use---my small hands simply could not span the fraction of an inch needed to unfasten the damn thing, and I said as much to the empty room.


“Your mouth certainly gets you into a great deal of trouble, does it not?”


My toiling halted---I turned to see Jeffrey standing in the doorway. “I assumed I was alone,” I huffed and resumed the tussle to escape my gown.


“Calm down, little hellcat,” he easily unhooked the stubborn clasps, drew the sleeves down my arms, and lowered the dress for me to step out.


Wearing only my undergarments, I turned my back to him. “Would you be kind enough to assist me in removing my corset?” I tried very hard—well, maybe not extremely hard—to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
 
Becoming Lady Amherst Blurb: 
 When Miss Sarah McLean causes a scandal in Boston, her father takes her to London in search of a husband.

At her first party, Sarah insults Lord Amherst who takes her over his knee to spank some manners into her. When this spanking comes to light, Sarah's father offers him a choice: Marry Sarah or send her back to America where she has no prospects for a husband.

Intrigued by the spirited Yankee Girl, Lord Amherst proposes.

Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Sarah and Jeffrey form a bond and appear headed for a bright future.

That is, until Sarah pretends to be someone she's not. 

Buy your copy: 



Amazon UK 


Barnes and Noble

Be sure to visit all the fantastic Saturday Spankers!

Spanking Stories Book Club: The Mercies of Cinderella

Please welcome Rollin Hand who is here to discuss The Mercies of Cinderella by Ken Charles. 

The Mercies of Cinderella is not your standard medieval/fantasy romance. In fact it hardly qualifies as a romance at all. Instead it’s a hot and steamy, rough and ready BDSM revenge tale. “Mercies” begins where the classic fairy tale of Cinderella ends. Much like Anne Rice’s The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty, to which this work must give a nod for inspiration, The Mercies of Cinderella picks up the day after the prince finds the girl. I suppose all of us had to wonder, even as little kids, watching the original Disney cartoon and any number adaptations that came later, what did happen to Cinderella’s step mother and the two sisters? Well, wonder no longer, for Ken Charles tells us. It’s payback time in the magic kingdom.
Cinderella, it turns out, is not one to just let bygones be bygones. The step mother and two sisters are brought before the prince for justice. The charge is treason. The headsman and his block are at the ready. But Cinderella is not totally without pity. She convinces the Prince to give them each one year. If within that year they can prove their worth, the sentence will be commuted.

And so, for the three women begins a year of humiliation, servitude and punishment. And what a year it is.  If you are a fan of judicial type or dungeon type scenes of corporal punishment, Mr. Charles gives it to you in full measure.

Layered into the story line is the romantic relationship between Cinderella and the Prince, and there is a sexy wedding night scene in which the Prince finally claims his bride. But Cinderella is not the shy retiring maiden you’ve previously known. She’s a bit of a brat herself, and when she rides out of the castle on her own in defiance of the Prince’s orders, there is hell to pay.

So how do the wicked step mother and step sisters fare? You’ll have to read Mr. Charles excellent book to find out, but here’s a tip-- don’t look for happily ever after. This ain’t your babysitter’s fairy tale. (But if your babysitter did read this to you, I want to meet her).



Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/The-Mercies-of-Cinderella?store=allproducts&keyword=The+Mercies+of+Cinderella

Here is the product blurb:
Payback is a bitch, and so at times is Cinderella. Cinderella is about to marry Prince Charming. Her evil Step Mother and Stepsisters have been convicted of high treason for their conspiracy to prevent the Prince from finding his true love, and are awaiting sentencing. Before the Prince passes sentence, Cinderella asks to take them into her custody for a year to determine whether she may speak on their behalves. The Prince grants her request, and remands the Step relations to one year under the tender mercies of Cinderella.

During this year, while Cinderella basks in the boundless love of the Prince and the joy of her first pregnancy, she applies the hard lessons she learned growing up to her Stepsisters, expressing her concern for their moral edification and well being with various paddles, straps, and even the scopula of a giant trap-door spider. Step Mother, who taught her that nothing in life is free, has to pay for her keep with sexual favors for all who provide her with any goods or services.

Discussion Questions:

1. What do you think of Cinderella’s character?

2. How do the step sisters change?

3. What do you think about formal judicial punishment scenes in spanking erotica?

4. Where is the line between reasonable severity and punishment that is too harsh?




Thursday, March 27, 2014

Becoming Lady Amherst Stay Home Blog Tour Day Three

I'm doing the stay-cation version of a blog tour for the release of my new Regency Spanking Romance, Becoming Lady Amherst.

This book is written in first person, from Sarah's point of view. That can make it difficult to portray the hero, Lord Jeffrey Amherst. In this short excerpt, Jeffrey shows his romantic side. This scene takes place on their wedding afternoon/night.



“Shall we go upstairs, Lady Amherst?” His husky voice sent a jolt through my body. All I could do was nod.

He scooped me into his strong arms. I clung to his neck with my face buried in his shoulder. He took the stairs two at a time, kicked open the door to a bedchamber, then kicked it closed behind us with a resounding boom. Despite the momentum of our entry, once we were alone, his actions slowed. He set me upon my feet as though I were a delicate treasure.

A large bed—my husband's bed—dominated the room. It was made up with crisp fresh linens plus a mountain of pillows. Heavy drapes, tied back at the corners, gave the whole scene a very intimate, masculine feel.

I gulped and licked my parched lips. I had never been alone with a man in his bedchamber. What decent young lady would? Yet, I was now expected to share a marriage bed with my spouse.

My heart pounded. My tummy churned. “I-I do not know what to do,” I whispered.

“I would be most surprised if you did.” Jeffrey cupped my chin in his hand. “It is a gentleman’s honor to teach his wife about the pleasures of the marriage bed. It is his duty to ensure his wife’s needs are met and she finds pleasure in the intimacies married couples share.”


Becoming Lady Amherst Blurb:  

When Miss Sarah McLean causes a scandal in Boston, her father takes her to London in search of a husband.

At her first party, Sarah insults Lord Amherst who takes her over his knee to spank some manners into her. When this spanking comes to light, Sarah's father offers him a choice: Marry Sarah or send her back to America where she has no prospects for a husband.

Intrigued by the spirited Yankee Girl, Lord Amherst proposes.

Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Sarah and Jeffrey form a bond and appear headed for a bright future.

That is, until Sarah pretends to be someone she's not.



Becoming Lady Amherst Buy Links: 

 


Amazon UK 


Barnes and Noble

Wednesday, March 26, 2014

Becoming Lady Amherst Stay Home Blog Tour

First, I'm over at Maddie Taylor's Blog sharing an excerpt for Wicked Wanton Wednesday so stop by for a steamy excerpt and my answers to some fun interview questions. Click here to check it out.  

And for something a little less wild and wanton, here's a fun scene. Mrs. White was hired to chaperone Sarah and help her to navigate the London social season. In this scene, I think you'll get the idea that Sarah does not care much for Mrs. White.


 Mrs. White continued her unrelenting efforts to tutor me in the ways of English gentility. She grilled, quizzed, and cross-examined me on the nature of the peerage as well as British titles. The difference between a viscount abynd an earl was now crystal clear. In America, we called people Mr. or Mrs. or Miss. It was hardly so complicated, but to the British, particularly my dour tutor, these things were all very important. The shrew made dire threats should I forget or fail to show appropriate deference based upon title.



She even had the temerity to attempt to correct my accent.


More accurately, she hired someone to accomplish the task.


Summoned to the drawing room one morning after breakfast, presumably for callers, I entered with a smile, only to be faced with Mrs. White standing next to a horrid little man whom she introduced as Professor Webster. He dipped his bald head to me. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss McLean.”


His pronunciation and precise tone surpassed the elocution of even the most high born British lords and ladies of my acquaintance.


Mrs. White, using her most genteel diction as well, explained. “Professor Webster is here to teach you how to speak.”


I glowered from the pockmarked face of Professor Webster to the beady eyes of Mrs. White and took a step backward.


“Your father has ordered these lessons.” She tipped her chin up in challenge, anticipating my objection.


“At your suggestion, of course.”


“We only want what is best for you.”


I rushed from the room to find my only parent. He had his nose buried in a book in the library when I burst in.


“Father,” I gasped, expecting the shrew to be fast on my heels, or as fast as her jam-and-pudding fueled frame could carry her. “What is wrong with my accent? Am I not an American?”


He tore his attention away from reading long enough to glance up at me. “Mrs. White thinks correcting your accent is a good idea.”


I clenched my fists at my sides. “What about what you think?”


“Sarah.” He set the book aside to focus on me. “We are here to find you a husband. Assuming we succeed, England will be your new home. If you are going to be British, you should sound like it.”


Taken aback by his plan to convert me into someone else, I squared my shoulders and replied with every bit of Yankee pride within me. “I will never be British, regardless of who I might marry. What is wrong with you? Have you forgotten your own country?”


“No, Sarah. But I will not be living here for the rest of my life. If all goes according to plan, you will.”


Rather than waiting for Father to force me to return while the smug Mrs. White watched, I turned and left the room, running right into the winded lady herself.


“Sarah! Why can you not be more careful?” she scolded. “Honestly, you are the most difficult young lady I have ever encountered.”


Ignoring her, I stomped my way back to the drawing room and sat down opposite Professor Webster. “One lesson. That is all I will consent to.”


“To which I will consent,” the clammy little man corrected.


“I thought this was about my accent, not my grammar.” I conveyed my annoyance with a fierce glare, though he likely wished to correct that as well.


“Fine.” He pulled himself up to his full elfin height. “Let us begin with a few simple exercises.” He cleared his throat in preparation for his torture. “Americans,” he pronounced the word as though it was vinegar upon his tongue, “place too much emphasis on the hard sound of the letter R. The British articulate it much more gently.” He demonstrated. “Pahk, rather than park, you see?”


I shrugged.


“Now you try it.”


“Pahk, ahthah than park,” I mimicked.


“Sarah!” Mrs. White, of course, chose that moment to enter the room. No doubt she had lingered in the library to slaughter my character to my father before returning to belittle me in front of Professor Sweaty Brow.


“Professor Webster—” She caught herself before she went into a full-blown tirade. She gave him her best smile, which simply meant she did not scowl. “Would you please excuse Miss McLean and me, um, myself? Um. The two of us. I should like to speak with Miss McLean privately for a moment.”


Professor Webster scuttled out the door without further comment, no doubt relieved at an opportunity to escape the tension in the room.


“I am ashamed of you. Behaving so rudely to Professor Webster. After your father paid him a handsome sum, indeed, to make you sound like a proper lady.”


“Ashamed? How dare you. You are nothing to me, and to imply my actions reflect on you in any manner is ludicrous. Believe me, I am as ashamed to be in your presence as you are to be in mine.”


Father entered the room. He glanced from Mrs. White to me and back again. “I have sent the professor on his way. Perhaps hiring a pugilist master would be a better activity for the two of you.”



Becoming Lady Amherst Blurb: When Miss Sarah McLean causes a scandal in Boston, her father takes her to London in search of a husband.

At her first party, Sarah insults Lord Amherst who takes her over his knee to spank some manners into her. When this spanking comes to light, Sarah's father offers him a choice: Marry Sarah or send her back to America where she has no prospects for a husband.

Intrigued by the spirited Yankee Girl, Lord Amherst proposes.

Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Sarah and Jeffrey form a bond and appear headed for a bright future.

That is, until Sarah pretends to be someone she's not.

Buy Links: 



Amazon UK 


Barnes and Noble

Tuesday, March 25, 2014

Becoming Lady Amherst Stay Home Blog Tour

Welcome to the first stop on the Becoming Lady Amherst Blog Tour! 

You might be a little confused. Usually a blog tour involves an author visiting other blogs with excerpts from their new book. Well, you've heard of stay-cations, right? This is the blog tour version of a stay-cation. I'll be sharing excerpts all week (except Friday which is always Spanking Stories Book Club) so come back every day!

Blurb:  When Miss Sarah McLean causes a scandal in Boston, her father takes her to London in search of a husband.

At her first party, Sarah insults Lord Amherst who takes her over his knee to spank some manners into her. When this spanking comes to light, Sarah's father offers him a choice: Marry Sarah or send her back to America where she has no prospects for a husband.

Intrigued by the spirited Yankee Girl, Lord Amherst proposes.

Despite the circumstances of their marriage, Sarah and Jeffrey form a bond and appear headed for a bright future.

That is, until Sarah pretends to be someone she's not.



In this excerpt we see how Sarah became engaged. Enjoy! 





“Ah, Miss McLean, the music is starting. It is time for the dance you promised me.” Lord Amherst whisked me away before she could utter a syllable. We stood up together with the dancers.

“I did not promise you a dance,” I whispered through a forced smile.

“Based upon the expression in your eyes when your governess—”

“She is not my governess.” Honestly, could he be more infuriating?

“Given the childish way you sometimes behave, you can understand my confusion.”

“You are not confused. You simply hope to rankle me, something you have an uncanny ability to do.”

“And do you know why that is?” he asked before the dance parted us briefly.

“Because you are despicable,” I responded the next time he came within earshot.

“No." He grinned. “It is because you fancy me.”

I stopped in my tracks to glare up at him. The dance was forgotten while raw emotion coursed through my veins. “You! I fancy you?” I threw my head back and laughed. “Do you honestly believe I could ever fancy a man such as you, after you turned me over your knee and spanked me?”

Lord Amherst stared, his jaw hanging slack. An eerie silence fell over the dancers and even the musicians quieted. Horrified, my focus darted from shocked face to shocked face until my gaze met the stony glare of Mrs. White.

***

Father insisted no decisions be made in haste, so when Mrs. White reported my behavior to him—and though she was supposedly responsible for my comportment, she blamed the entire matter on me—he sent me to bed with instructions to get a good night’s sleep, with a promise we would discuss the situation in the morning.

How could he expect me to rest? My mind whirled. Another scandal. I had shamed my father and myself not to mention suffering the self-satisfied smirk on Mrs. White’s face.

I had no idea why she appeared so happy. If we returned to America, she would be out of a job. However, since she lingered in the library with Father after my departure, perhaps she had designs on accompanying us to America as my new stepmother.

A shudder tripped through my body while a bit of bile rose in my throat. I would do anything to get away from her, including give myself to Lord Amherst.

Yes, upon consideration of the options, binding myself to the vexatious Lord Jeffrey Amherst was far preferable to living in a household with that woman as my stepmother.

Of course, there was no reason to think my father would be so foolish.

The variety of thoughts crashing through my brain made sleep elusive.

Summoned to the library the next morning, I expected a stern lecture followed by orders to pack for a departure to America. Instead, Lord Amherst stood next to my father.

My breath caught in my throat, and I took a step back. I scanned the visitor's face for a hint as to his intentions. Of course, he must have been angry with me for embarrassing him, though my statement contained nothing but the truth. Regardless, it was scandalous for me to shout about it in the middle of a dance. My face heated with mortification.

Father indicated an upholstered chair next to the one where our imposing guest had settled himself, while he sat on the other side of the desk and studied the two of us.

“Sarah.” He rubbed his forehead. “I have spoken with Lord Amherst, who indicates what you said last night, though highly shocking, was actually true.”

I regarded the man next to me with surprise. Why did he not deny the whole thing? Call me a crazy Yankee? It was not as though there were any witnesses. Plus, the word of a man of his lineage and reputation would carry much more weight than that of an upstart American girl like me.

He spoke again. “Based upon his admission, I could demand satisfaction and force a marriage between the two of you.”

The maids—undoubtedly listening outside the closed door—could have heard my sudden inhalation of breath.

“Marriage? To him?” I turned and stared at Lord Amherst, who met my gaze seeming completely nonplussed.

“Is the thought of it so abhorrent to you?” he said, calm as you please.

“I-I had not considered it,” I lied.

“The other option,” Father interjected, “would be for us to return to America and allow his lordship to tell whatever version of events he cares to. I would not ordinarily offer a choice, but seeing that you both contributed to this mess, it seems the fair thing to do.”

I slumped in my seat. Allow this man, or anyone, to tell tales about me? No! Despite my lack of decorum, I still possessed some pride.

An opportunity for freedom from England, this exasperating man, as well as all the other pomp and circumstance presented itself. Why did I not take it?

“Of course, that would be Lord Amherst’s preference.” I stared at the floor, expecting his agreement.

“Not necessarily.” The gentleman turned to address my father. “Sir, would you mind allowing Miss McLean and me a moment to speak privately?”

My father sat up straighter in his seat. “That would be highly improper.”

“I believe we are past the point of what is proper or not, sir.”

To my knowledge, no one, man or woman, had ever stood up to my father, particularly in such a firm but polite manner. A tiny bit of admiration formed in my heart.

Without responding, Father rose and vacated the room, though he did not close the door completely when he left.

Bewildered, I scrutinized Lord Amherst. Did he plan to spank me again for getting him into such a bind? Instead, he turned in his seat, gazing at me full in the face.

“What will happen to you if you go back to America?” His warm voice floated over me and I almost wanted to crawl into his lap.

I considered lying, but the situation required honesty. I took a deep breath and confessed. “Father says he wishes to have a daughter married to an English lord. While it is his desire, the whole truth is I have rebuffed or offended all of the eligible suitors in America.” There. I said it. I grasped the arms of the chair, preparing myself for his ridicule.

Instead, he laughed heartily. “All of them? Surely you exaggerate.”

“Father took me to Boston so my aunt could introduce me to eligible gentlemen. That went fairly well until….” I braced for my admission. “One young man attempted to steal a kiss. I had no idea of his intention, so when he startled me, my reaction was instinctive.”

I peeped up at Lord Amherst, who wore a singularly delighted expression on his face. “Go on.”

“I blackened his eye. Shortly afterward, we left for England. So now you know.”
His look of enchantment persisted.

“It must please you to know I have shamed myself in two countries.” I tilted my chin in defiance.

“As a matter of fact it does, but not for the reason you might think.” He grinned at me. “It means I am your last, best hope for marriage, is that not correct?”

“Why should such a thing make you glad? Surely you have many prospects for a wife.” My voice barely above a whisper, I curled into myself, trying to disappear. “Better prospects than me.”

“Would not a wife who is grateful to be saved from a life of spinsterhood be a good choice? She would always be thankful to have a husband such as me.”

“What?” My malaise disappeared. “If you expect me to spend the rest of my life kowtowing after you in gratitude for the grand honor of being your wife, you are sorely mistaken.” I stood, intending to go to the door to call my father back into the room, but before I could get past Lord Amherst, he took hold of my hand and drew me down to sit on his lap.

“Your spunk is precisely the reason you will be an ideal wife for me. I am well past prime marriage age, but I have refused to bind myself to a woman who simpers after me in a ‘yes, my lord’ sort of way.”

I did not fully comprehend his meaning because the flecks of gold in his dark eyes mesmerized me—burnished speckles which were only apparent when one was in close proximity, such as sitting on the gentleman’s lap.

The next thing I knew, his mouth settled over mine in a gentle kiss that made my toes wiggle.

When the kiss ended, he whispered against my lips, “Stay here, Sarah. Be my wife.”



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