Today it's my pleasure to feature Lady of the Flames, A Most Peculiar Season, Multi Author Series,
Book Three by Barbara Monajem.
Genre: Regency Paranormal
Date of Publication: March 23, 2015
ISBN: 978-1508426240
ASIN: B00T0JAWLO
Word Count: 61,800
Cover Artist: Jane Dixon-Smith
Book Description
Magic is fraught with peril—but so is love.
Lord Fenimore Trent’s uncanny affinity for knives and other
sharp blades led to duels and murderous brawls until he found a safe, peaceful
outlet by opening a furniture shop—an unacceptable occupation for a man of
noble birth. Now Fen’s business partner has been accused of treason. In order
to root out the real traitor, he may have to resort to the violent use of his
blades once again.
Once upon a time, Andromeda Gibbons believed in magic. That
belief faded after her mother’s death and vanished completely when Lord
Fenimore, the man she loved, spurned her. Five years later, Andromeda has
molded herself into a perfect—and perfectly unhappy—lady.
When she overhears her haughty betrothed plotting treason,
she flees into the London night—to Fen, the one man she knows she can trust.
But taking refuge with him leads to far more than preventing treason.
Can she learn to believe in love, magic, and the real
Andromeda once again?
Available at
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Excerpt
Setup: After learning of a treasonous plot, Andromeda
fled into the London night to get help from Lord Fen, the man she once loved.
They’re now having breakfast the next morning.
Years ago, Andromeda had felt no need to talk
when with Fen, but now it was uncomfortable, like conversing with a stranger.
Then, they’d had more in common; now they lived in different worlds. She took a
sip of coffee and ate a sausage roll. She sipped some more coffee. She gazed
around the room and finally found something to say.
“Did you carve the figures on your
looking-glass frame?” she said. As a boy, he had whittled constantly. “They
seem so…familiar somehow.”
“They should,” he said with a sudden smile. “I
carved it from my memories of the fairies and hobgoblins back home.”
“Fairies and hobgoblins?”
“At your father’s estate,” he said. “Surely
you remember Cuff the bedchamber hob, and Heck the buttery spirit, and all the
rest.”
“My mother told stories about them,” Andromeda
said, nostalgia filling her again. “I must say, I like the way you’ve imagined
them.”
Fen frowned at her, his smile fading, his eyes
perplexed. “I didn’t imagine them,” he said. “I saw them.”
Andromeda rolled her eyes. “That sounds like
something my mother would have said.”
“Because she saw them, too.”
Andromeda began to be annoyed. “Don’t be
ridiculous, Fen. She made up stories based on tales she’d been told as a
child.”
Fen shook his head. “You saw them when you
were small. You saw Cuff and Heck and the others. We both did.”
“No,” Andromeda said. “We saw movement out of
the corners of our eyes and said they were fairies, but we were just playing
games.”
Fen’s expression was pained. “You really don’t
remember, do you?”
“There’s nothing to remember,” she insisted, wolfing down another cream puff. “As a
matter of fact, that happened to me this morning. I had the impression that one
of the creatures on the looking-glass winked at me, but of course it didn’t
really do so.”
“What a pity,” Fen said.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That you’ve forgotten. That wink was Cuff’s
way of saying good-day to you. He’s somewhere hereabouts. He’s the only one I
didn’t have to carve from memory, because he came with me when I left home.” He
glanced toward the tin cup and plate by the wall. “He ate the bread and milk I
put out, and I gave him the rest of your brandy, too.”
She couldn’t stand any more of this. “Fen,
stop this nonsense! We’re in danger from traitors and spies who murder people, and all you can talk
about is hobgoblins.”
He went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “I wondered
why he came with me when I left, but it’s because he enjoys human company.” He
grimaced. “Your father and aunt aren’t his sort of humans. I thought you were,
and so did your mother, but evidently you’re not.”
That struck her like a blow. “What do you
mean, my mother thought I was. Was what?”
“She had a sizeable amount of fairy blood, so
she thought you must have some, too—but perhaps she was wrong.” He paused. “I
know I have some. It’s not uncommon for children to see fairies, but I didn’t
lose that when I grew up. Not only that, it’s their magic that guides my knives
and tools, and inspires me when it comes to furniture design.”
She couldn’t bear it. “Stop it! You’re as—as
mad as my mother was.”
“She wasn’t mad, Andromeda.” He sighed. “And
whether or not you see the fairies, they’re still here.”
She put her hands to her ears and shut her
eyes. After all the chaos of yesterday, this was too much. When he said and did
nothing, she opened her eyes again. “Why did she discuss me with you?”
“Who else was there to speak to? Your father
and aunt, although worthy people, wouldn’t have understood. They already found
her far too strange.”
This was true—but it was because Mama’s mind
was unbalanced.
“She knew I cared for you,” Fen said.
His eyes were kind but dispassionate; his use
of the past tense meant that he didn’t care anymore, except perhaps as an old
friend. Why couldn’t she become accustomed? Every single reminder hurt.
“You believed in them at the time your mother
died,” he said. “She gave you that heart-shaped locket, didn’t she?” It still
hung at her breast, but she resisted the urge to clasp it in her hand.
“I was nine years old. I believed in many
foolish things then,” she retorted. Such as magic, but a household run by her
aunt was no longer vibrant with promise or belief in anything much at all. And
then, when she was seventeen, Fen had destroyed what little belief remained.
She didn’t try to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I learned soon enough
what utter nonsense it all was.”
He watched her, head cocked to one side, as if
she were some strange, incomprehensible creature. “As a matter of interest,
when did you stop believing?”
How dare he ask such a personal question?
“What business is that of yours?”
“None, I suppose.” He shrugged and stood.
“Stay away from the windows. I’ll see if my valet has found you something to
wear.” He took the last of the beignets, set it on a saucer, and left it on the
floor by the wall.
As if prying into her business wasn’t enough,
now he was mocking her. Did he seriously expect her to believe that a hobgoblin
would eat the beignet? Anger stirred and grew within her. “If you must know, it
was at the same time I gave up other foolishness, such as believing in love!”
Fen stared at her,
his expression incredulous. He left the room, slamming the door behind him.
By what right was he
upset? Not content with playing stupid games with her, did he really not
remember what he’d done to her five years ago?
About the Author
Award-winning author Barbara Monajem wrote her first story
at eight years old about apple tree gnomes. She published a middle-grade
fantasy when her children were young, then moved on to paranormal mysteries and
Regency romances with intrepid heroines and long-suffering heroes.
Barbara loves to cook, especially soups, and is an avid
reader. There are only two items on her bucket list: to make asparagus pudding
and succeed at knitting socks. She knows she can manage the first but doubts
she’ll ever accomplish the second.
This is not a bid for immortality but merely the dismal
truth. She lives near Atlanta, Georgia.
Website: http://www.BarbaraMonajem.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/barbara.monajem
Twitter: https://twitter.com/BarbaraMonajem
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/barbaramonajem/
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1 comment:
A wonderful excerpt thank you.
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