Six Sentence Sunday #20: In the Widow’s Bed

Hello again. I’m back with a new story for Six Sentence Sunday #20 this month. This excerpt is from my first indie release, In the Widow’s Bed. My first (and so far only) cougar romance set in he regency period. In this short excerpt, widowed Lady Warminster has just confessed she’s looking for a lover. Jonathan is her step-sons friend and he’s smitten with her. Enjoy.

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At Lady Warminster’s shocked gasp, Jonathan drew her out onto the terrace where darkness hid her embarrassment from any witnesses. “Or would you prefer the comfort of darkness for your daring escapade?”

He drew closer, slid the tips of his fingers along her arm, over the thin strip of skin exposed to the night between her glove and gown to gauge her reaction. Lady Warminster shuddered, her hitched breath loud in the dark night. Unfortunately, his body reacted, too. Her velvet skin stirred a hunger in him that he strove to control.

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You can find more six sentence sunday brilliance here, but please leave a comment on Six Sentence Sunday #20

 

In the Widow’s Bed

Phoebe Torrington, Lady Warminster, is bored, lonely, and downright frustrated by her life. Perhaps that’s why she’s turned to her stepson’s friend, Lord Selwood, to help her find the perfect lover. Clean, experienced, and discreet, her delicious Frenchman is as exciting as he’d promised. But she never expected Selwood—a man ten years her junior—to disguise his voice and send himself to share her bed.

Jonathan Oliver, Lord Selwood, came to his friend’s house party to stake a claim on his future bride. However, he delays his pursuit of the eager debutant when he discovers Phoebe’s intriguing need. Jonathan cannot resist the temptation to secretly spend a night in the widow’s bed. Yet once he’s tasted Phoebe’s desire, will one night ever be enough?

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Friday First Page Teaser: In the Widow’s Bed

Chapter One

If ever a gentleman stood in need of forbearance then this confounded house party surely fit the bill. Jonathan Oliver, Earl of Selwood, stood amid the giddy throng and wished himself elsewhere. The perfumed stench of his best friends’ circle of acquaintances—each resplendent in more silk, satin, and sparkling jewels than necessary—choked the very breath from his lungs.

Jonathan eased out of the mind-numbingly boring conversation he’d become trapped in and moved away in search of more appealing quarry. Unfortunately, a hand clamped over his upper arm before he’d gone very far.

“I tell you she’s up to no good, Selwood.”

Jonathan groaned but turned to face his friend, Lord Warminster. “To whom do you refer to this time?”

Warminster’s fingers tightened. “Lady Warminster, of course.”

Jonathan glanced down at the hand that held him in place. “How so?”

Warminster released his arm. “Her whole face lights up whenever any gentleman comes into view, has done so all evening too. Can you not see what I mean?”

Jonathan saw nothing in Lady Warminster’s manner to precipitate such a high level of distrust. But then again, he was conversing with the most suspicious man in England, and should hardly be surprised by the direction of his friend’s thoughts.

Warminster’s stepmother, widowed these last four years, glided past with a group of twittering acquaintances. Her deeper, earthy chuckle reached Jonathan’s ears as she clung to his sister’s arm, sharing a confidence. The lady appeared to him as she always had. Utterly breathtaking.

“If anything, your mother appears happy,” Jonathan conceded. “About time.” He muttered the last under his breath, knowing his older friend would not agree.

Beside him, Warminster’s scowl deepened. “Step-mama.” A servant passed them with a tray of champagne and Jonathan’s friend scooped up a glass with an extravagant movement, downed the contents whole, and then returned the empty glass to the tray. “I have a job for you, Selwood.”

“No!” Jonathan groaned. Whenever Warminster needed something done, no matter how innocuous the matter sounded at first hearing, Jonathan would certainly face a moral dilemma. He didn’t like to spy on acquaintances, but Lord Warminster often called on him to do so whenever he had state business elsewhere. And his request couldn’t possibly come at a more inconvenient time.

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