If you enjoy historical romance set in Regency-era England, I hope you'll check out Love Denied. It's the first novel in the series Honorable Intentions for Dragonblade Publishing. Release is scheduled for January 28, 2022. In the meantime, please enjoy an excerpt.
1
This life, which
had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a
poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard
no more.
~ Shakespeare (Macbeth)
Nicholas tugged the bridle, pulling Taurus to a stop,
and then slid from the stallion. Relief coursed through his cramped legs. He
let the reins drop and brushed at his jacket and trousers, the rising dust
tickling his nose, its chalky residue lingering on his tongue. He straightened,
rolling his shoulders, and tension rippled down his spine until the muscles in
his lower back contracted and released.
The domed roof of the addition to the manse rose above
the tree line, the pearl marble gleaming in the sun. It reminded him of the
folly, once his pride and joy. His dream of architecture long gone, he wondered
if the sight of the folly would still bring pleasure. He glanced in its
direction, but it was well-hidden by the forest, cloistered from the world as
he’d hoped when he first envisioned it.
Taurus, nostrils flaring, snorted, blowing a warm
stream of air across his face. He’d ridden him too hard. He patted the stallion’s
neck, the hair moist beneath his hand. “You’re a good man.” A few feet off the
main drive, the bridge beckoned. He left the horse knowing it would wait where
it stood. Stubborn but loyal. Like Catherine. He scanned the ground for a small
rock. Scrub grass and a few pebbles, but nothing worthy of a wish.
His boots clicked against the wood. He stopped midway.
It was impossible to tell if the fish were well stocked. There was no sign of
movement beneath the surface, but it was a deep lake. He couldn’t remember the
last time he held a rod. Such indulgences were probably now and forever
relegated to the past. There would be no hours to waste, no idle time to fill.
Not that there’d been for years, but he’d always thought leisurely activities
would enrich his life once again. And Catherine’s. All dreams included
Catherine.
Reaching up, Nicholas ripped the epaulet from his
shoulder, clutching it in his fist. He raised it to his mouth and kissed his
curled fingers, the rough metallic threads coarse against his lips. “To simple
pleasures.” The gold braid plopped ungracefully into the water, tilting
awkwardly as it absorbed water. He watched the epaulet sink, wishing it took
his shame with it, wanting to bury the last four years under the silt and
sludge at the bottom. If only it were that easy.
The special license tucked inside his jacket brought
some comfort. He traced its stiff outline, his heart lightening at the promise
it held. The far end of the bridge beckoned. It would be so easy to cross it
and follow the path to Stratton Hall. To see Catherine. To hold her in his arms
again. He drew his shoulders back and pivoted. He knew too well how to stiffen
his resolve as well as his back. Pleasure must be delayed for duty. Catherine
would have to wait.
The rising specter of Woodfield Park summoned. It was
time to face Daniel.
