We all have a history. Some people have lives that seem more tantalizing than others. We watch in awe and sometimes envy, as they go out to conquer the world. But underneath the veneer we are all made of the same ‘stuff’. We all have memories of these experiences that make us smile or make us frown- simple experiences of life that bring us pure joy or the exceptional memories which cause hurt and even physical pain. So the big question is ‘Why?’ http://niccimayne.myfreesites.net/blog/inspirations-of-an-aspiring-author
From award winning author Nicci Mayne
"Kept me glued until the last page"
"Regency era with something more" ★★★★★
Extract for your reading pleasure:
Stafford heard Gracie taunting her brother and decided to enter the study before he murdered her. If Beatrice spoke to him in such a manner, all hell would be unleashed. He knocked once and opened the door, but was halted by the simmering sight before him. Marcus stood on the far end of the room facing the door. His hands were clenched by his side and his face was contorted with anger. He looked ready to explode. Defeated, Lady Bromley sat collapsed in the chair between her warring children. Gracie stood with her back to the door. At least, Stafford assumed it was Gracie. She appeared so changed that he hardly recognised her. She wore a deep red dress with translucent white over-layers. The silk bodice was held in place by pleated straps spanning no more than an inch each, leaving the expanse of her creamy shoulders exposed. The bodice was daringly low, allowing for a generous vista of Gracie’s delicate back and drawing Stafford’s eye to her petite waist and heart-shaped hips. Layer upon layer of red and white chiffon fell gloriously to the floor. The dress was both shocking and wholly inappropriate. The effect was stunning.
Stafford's reverie was broken by a low growl. Marcus was not impressed by Stafford’s gawking reaction and instructed him to have the sense to enter and close the door, lest he expose the family to further derision. Gracie turned slightly to determine who had provoked such an outburst from her brother.
Stafford inhaled sharply. Gracie was more beautiful than he remembered. Her rich black hair was pulled into a single side tress which rested elegantly over a creamy shoulder. A gentle dimple accentuated a deceptively angelic face and the depth of her green eyes framed in dark kohl spoke of determination and a mischievous nature. A gentle blush extended over the apples of her cheeks betraying her emotions, but not deterring a wicked grin. Her bodice pushed at her breasts as her breathing deepened, revealing the rise of perfect flesh. Stafford lost all sense of purpose, except one. In less than a minute, he was wholly unable to account for his thought processes and the thundering of his heart told him what his mind was failing to comprehend- he was a lost cause.
“Stafford!” hollered Marcus, in abject rage. It appeared that he could not even rely on his best friend’s good breeding and discretion. He wanted to bundle Gracie up in the Persian carpet and smuggle her out the house to prevent further ogling of her feminine attributes.
Gracie gurgled. She was delighted by the effect she had on Stafford.
Stafford reassembled his dignity and closed the door to position himself behind his friend. ‘Get a grip, man!’ he scolded himself, silently.