Hello everyone! Thank
you for inviting me to be your guest today.
I hope that wherever you are, spring is showing up a little early as it
is here in California. My daffodils and
hyacinths are poking their heads through the cold soil, and my wisteria vines
are sprouting velvet buds that will soon blossom. As you might have guessed, gardening is what
I enjoy doing when I'm not writing.
I've published twenty-three historical romances and one
novella. Writing can be like bungee
jumping—one minute you're up, the next you're hurtling down, and then you’re
back up again. The journey I’ve traveled
since publication has been a climb. The
thrill and fear I felt when I first started aren't quite as intense, but I've
made an effort to keep myself balanced to avoid burning out. My advice to aspiring writers is to remain
focused on your goals, read as widely as you can, work hard, and write even
when you feel uninspired. Self- doubt
sabotages you. Fight it. And don't give up. I know it's hard. But you can't publish what you haven’t
written.
The book I'm currently writing is Sir Colin Boscastle's
story. Colin is Gabriel and Sebastian's
older brother, one of the main family's country cousins. He has returned to England for revenge
against the man he believes killed his father.
Before he fulfills his quest, however, he finds romance in an unlikely
place, a son he had not known existed, and the first woman he loved in the bed
of his mortal enemy.
The following excerpt is from my current book, The Duchess Diaries. The story opens on the night of the annual
graduation ball honoring the Scarfield Academy for Young Ladies in London. Miss Charlotte Boscastle, the lead schoolmistress,
is proud of the academy's success and wistful at turns.
Success means marriage. One of Charlotte’s graduates receives a
marriage proposal at the ball, but Charlotte's own prospects seem to diminish
with each season that passes. It isn't
that she is immune to romance. She is
secretly infatuated with the Duke of Wynfield, perhaps the last man on earth a
lady should desire.
It isn't as if Charlotte’s impending spinsterhood is a
secret, however. Her entire family
reminds her that marriage is eluding her moment by moment. Her brothers have even rallied to the cause
and are racing to London with an unsuitable suitor to save her.
In the following scene, Charlotte's cousin, Devon Boscastle,
a reformed and happily married rake, is doing his best to convince the Duke of
Wynfield to dance with Charlotte. Devin is
unaware that Gideon is the duke of Charlotte's dreams, and that his good deed
will end that evening in social disaster.
The Duchess Diaries
©Jillian Hunter
(Signet Select, February 2012)
Devon walked Gideon around the ballroom, inundating him
with so many last-minute instructions that he wasn’t surprised Charlotte lacked
admirers. Who would be brave enough to break the Boscastle guard to approach
her? Who could remember the endless rules?
“One more
word,” he muttered. “One more warning, and I am going to do you a violent
injury.”
“You are
trustworthy, Wynfield, aren’t you?”
“I’m a man.”
“What does that
mean?”
“It means that
I am human. I have failings like any other man. If you’re afraid that I will do
or say anything to dishonor your cousin, then come out and say it. Or do not
introduce us.”
“The thought
never entered my mind,” Devon said, then hesitated. “Did it enter yours?”
Gideon laughed.
Devon
scrutinized him in silence. “On second thought, maybe this isn’t one of my
brighter ideas. I’ll find someone harmless, instead. There might be an earl
hiding in here somewhere who isn’t a walking scandal.”
“Look—”
Devon held up a
hand. “It’s all right. I understand. You don’t want to do me the only favor I
have ever asked of you in the all years of our friendship.”
Gideon glanced
at Charlotte’s willowy figure. From where he stood she looked as if she were
captured in the candlelight prisms. “Oh, hell, fine. I suppose it won’t kill
me. But if this is one of your pranks, I promise you, I will pay you back in
spades.”
“Me, a model of
dignity and reform? Would I play a trick on a duke who has studied under a
swordmaster such as Fenton?”
“What do you
expect me to say to her?”
“Haven’t you
paid court to enough women to write a book on the subject?”
“Only when I
was hoping for something in return.”
Devon’s eyes
darkened. “Can I give you one suggestion?”
“Damn you.”
“Try not to use
language like that in front of the young ladies or you’re liable to be slapped
witless by a dozen or so fans.”
Charlotte’s
throat constricted. She couldn’t swallow as she observed the swath the duke cut
through the ballroom. She glanced about, seeking a reasonable means of escape,
a group of guests to hide her, any excuse not to face the man whom her cousin
had clearly sent to bedevil her.
And yet she
waited. She hoped. What would she do for the chance to know him as she had
imagined in her diary? What if when he reached her he announced in a masterful
voice, “This ball is a waste of our time. You belong with me. Alone. In my
arms. I am taking you again, and this time I will not let you elude me.”
She shivered
with forbidden, foolish anticipation. How wicked she could be in her thoughts.
Then, suddenly, the duke stood before her. She lifted her gaze.
Thought ceased
to matter.
Her mind went
into anarchy.
Sensation
reigned, wild and undisciplined.
She’d only
caught a few glimpses of him about town. His profile in a passing carriage. A
stolen look at his broad-shouldered figure at an exhibition. It wouldn’t have
been appropriate to stare down the duke in the emporium. Heaven forbid that one
of his strumpets had made a snide remark that the younger girls of the academy
had overheard.
Or that
Charlotte herself had broken her perfect record of propriety and given the tart
a piece of her mind. One glance at him that day had been sufficient to confirm
her prior beliefs. He was an insufferably attractive man who radiated the charm
of an authentic rogue.
And she was
only asking for trouble by allowing her infatuation to grow.
Perhaps this
meeting would dampen her interest in him once and for all. Perhaps he would
reveal how crude and conceited he was at heart. She would be content to prove
to herself that he was handsome on the outside and hollow within.
“May I
introduce myself?” he asked.
She nodded her
head in the affirmative.
He said
something.
For the life of
her she could not force her mind to function.
Had he just
asked her to dance?
“I’m sorry. I
can’t.”
Good for her.
Her manners, her good sense, came to her rescue when it seemed mayhem had won.
“Are you
enjoying the party, Your Grace?”
His dark
saturnine smile swept her into another panic. “Not particularly.”
“I’m glad to
hear—”
What had he
said?
This initial
meeting was not unfolding as it had in her fantasies. She wasn’t supposed to
become tongue-tied in his presence. She was supposed to charm him with her wit,
with the dialogue that flowed effortlessly when written, but words abandoned
her now that she needed to voice them.
This was
humiliation.
How awful of
Devon, leaning against the wall to watch her embarrassment deepen.
The duke did
not appear pleased about the situation, either.
He stood beside
her as they made a few more attempts at polite conversation until finally
something inside her gave up. The Duke of Wynfield might be the man of her
dreams, but it was obvious he had been dragged unwillingly into her company.
And that he did not share her hope for a romance between them.
Unfortunately
that dismal fact did not subdue her attraction to him at all. Under different
circumstances she could have stared at his beautifully sculpted face for hours.
But she couldn’t keep chattering on forever.
“Devon made you
ask me to dance, didn’t he?” she asked, refusing to embarrass either of them
any longer. “I understand. He’s done this before.”
“Not to me.”
His dark eyes suddenly connected with hers, and she felt her heart give a
wistful flutter for what might have been.
But there
wasn’t a reason to keep pretending that he had any romantic motives in mind.
“I saw your
handsome heads together. I know you were discussing me. And I know Devon and
his antics too.”
“Nonsense,”
Gideon said firmly. “We were talking about political events.”
“Such as?”
“Nothing I
could repeat in refined company. Distressful subjects and . . .
such.”
“I see.” What
she really saw was that he wielded a charm as deftly as she did her fan. “I
never knew that Devon took an interest in politics.”
“He might not
have wanted to offend delicate ears with . . .”
“Distressful
subjects and such?”
“Exactly.” And
then to her surprise he edged in a little closer to her instead of running off
gratefully into the night as he had every right to do. “I’m curious about
something. Do you typically put other gentlemen through a grueling
interrogation before you agree to a dance?”
“Only the ones
I suspect are paying me court because my cousins have talked them into it.”
“Don’t you want
to dance with me?” he asked with a disarming smile.
She smiled
back, stealing another look at him over her laced-edged fan. “Are you trying to
corrupt me?
“No. Corruption
comes after the dance, which will apparently be over before this conversation
is.”
She closed her
fan, sighing deeply. “I think I should pay attention to the young ladies who
are graduating. This is their night, not mine.”
He bowed. “Then
I am disappointed.”
“You are not
disappointed, and we both know it. It’s a relief. Tell Devon you did your duty,
and I released you from it. He can be quite persuasive.”
“So can I when
given the chance.”
“I hope he
didn’t hold some dire threat over your head. If so, I apologize. He’s
incorrigible.”
“I beg your
pardon, Miss Boscastle, but I never do anything unless it pleases me. If you
knew more about me, you would understand that.”
And if you knew
more about me, Charlotte thought, you would understand that—that what? That she
was infatuated with a man who had to be threatened into talking to her? She
turned her face toward the dancers weaving like ribbons across the floor. Why
did he have to be so persistent? Why didn’t he leave her alone to feel sorry
for herself? The diabolical man was determined to wear her down.
“Will you—?”
“No, I’m
dreadfully sorry. I have to keep my eye on my girls.”
“It must be a
difficult job.”
“It is,” she
replied in a clipped voice, not looking at him. “Especially at times like
this.”
“Why are they
called the ‘Lionesses of London’ after they graduate?” he asked, and she could
feel him staring through her skin. “Do you teach them to catch gentlemen
between their jaws?”
She glanced up
at him again, caught unaware by the unbridled sensuality of his smile. “The
reference has nothing to do with our predatory skills.”
“Oh. What a
shame.”
“It refers to
the academy’s original foundress, Viscountess Lyons.”
“So there’s no
truth at all to the nickname?” he asked in an undertone.
“If there was,”
she said, biting off each word, “this would certainly be the time to prove it.”
“Are you—”
She swung
around. “The dance is over, you— It is intermission, Your Grace.” she managed
in a dignified voice.
He looked up.
“Well, so it is.” He gave her a gallant nod. “I was so engrossed in our
conversation I didn’t notice.”
Charlotte
groaned inwardly, too exhausted to argue. She could only imagine how difficult
he would be to resist in a private setting. Or if he truly had his heart set on
seduction.
Not that she
would ever have to worry about such a scandalous fate befalling her. They were
complete opposites. He was a raging bonfire to her timid flame. A
devil-may-care challenge to her conscientious soul. It wasn’t his fault that
she’d built a romance between them that had never existed. Or that he was so
gorgeous she could weep on his wonderfully masculine chest.
But at least he
had tried to be kind. Charlotte had to admire him for that, even if she was
going to pinch Devon’s head off for making her an object of pity.
“Miss
Boscastle?” the duke said in a deep, irresistible voice. “Am I forgiven?”
She stirred.
“For what?”
He looked at
her for a long time. “I was rather obvious, wasn’t I?”
“Painfully so.”
“Well, now that the truth is out, would you
give me the next dance?”
She shook her
head. “No.”
“Perhaps in the
future?”
“Yes, yes,
yes.” She forced herself to turn away.
She felt him
withdraw a step. And not a moment too soon. From the corner of her eye she
glimpsed two of her students drifting toward the French doors. Three young
gentlemen were following in their wake. She gripped her rose-scented fan,
steeling herself to thwart a scandal in the making. Duke of her secret desires
or not, she would not tolerate any mischief under her guard. Nor would she give
Lady Clipstone any tidbits to feed the gossipmongers.
“Another time,
Your Grace,” she murmured, dismissing him with finality.
“I look forward
to it.”
He bowed again.
She gave him credit for hiding his relief. She had no doubt he would forget her
the moment they parted company. And she would force herself to forget him too,
until the moment she sat at her desk and poured out her thoughts in her diary.
She decided
that it would be the last reference she ever made about the duke. Her imaginary
affair with him had to come to an end . . . even if he were more
desirable in person than she had dreamed.
One night alone
in his company would ruin her forever. Would the memories be worth disgrace?
She was afraid to admit to herself that they might be. And that was sufficient
evidence that she had allowed herself to go too far with the silly fantasies
about the charismatic duke. Still, any chance of a romance between them seemed as
remote as the planet Venus.
8 comments:
Sounds like Charlotte is going to have her hands full teaching Gideon a thing or two about life and it's lessons! Vice versa too!!
You're right! They both have their hands full, and so does everyone around them who gets involved!
Hi Jillian!
I loved the excerpt you posted from The Duchess Diaries. I must admit one of my favorite lines was when Charlotte "glanced about, seeking a reasonable means of escape, a group of guests to hide her, any excuse not to face the man whom her cousin had clearly sent to bedevil her." That one line told me what a fun ride reading The Duchess Diaries would be! I can't wait to find out the wild ride that Gideon and Charlotte will take!
The first book of yours that I read was The Husband Hunt and I've been hooked ever since! I was thrilled to find on your website the links to some of your books that have "magically disappeared" from my to be re-read shelf of my bookcase! Some of my friends think of my bookshelves (plural) are the local lending library but somehow after reading and loving your books they have a habit of "lending" to to someone else! Next time I'm loading onto my Kindle so it won't happen again.
I'll be checking on your website for more news on Colin's story in your next release.
Thanks for all the wonderful hours you've shared with me and all your readers.
Thank you, Jeanne! It's a boost to me whenever I hear that a reader has continued with my books. "Wonderful hours" is all I can hope for! As to your library -- I've had the same problem. The worst offender is my husband, and you wouldn't think that would be a problem except he gets busy and leaves my books in random places. Right now we're on an Ian Fleming/James Bond readathon.
I'm just ending a contest on my Facebook page for a Kindle Fire. I have more contests planned so be sure to enter!
I don't know the pub date yet for Colin's story. I'll post it as soon as I know.
In the meantime, I'm about to enter the "zone" as my friend Jill Marie Landis calls it -- the point at which the writer becomes so immersed in the story that few things actually penetrate her brain.
I'm so glad you took the time to comment today!
I will be going into Autumn soon here in Australia. I love the cool of Autumn after the long, hot Summer.
I have added THE DUCHESS DIARIES to my wish list.
sounds interesting Jillian, looking forward to read your book ;)
I really love the cover. It takes me back in time and wish for simplier times. Great excerpt, the book sounds really good and I can't wait to read it. Congrats on the release Jillian.
Great excerpt!
Pat C.
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