Hello, lovely readers!

Curves and Counterfeit released today, and I'm so excited to introduce you guys to Miss Lucy Jones and Keaton Godwin, Earl of Ennis! Talk about opposites attracting. She's serious, and he's anything but. Yet they're both protectors at heart, and this little novella is action-packed from page one.

It's in the multi-author Curves and Cravats series, and it's in Kindle Unlimited.

How about an excerpt? We meet Lucy in this scene right before she meets Keats. Enjoy!

***

As Lucy passed the stables and headed toward the field that led most directly to her brother’s home in the village, the warmth that usually hugged her after a successful mission drained away, replaced by… nothing. A chilling emptiness pulsed through her. She changed direction, moving toward the gardens instead.

Slowly, light spilled across the horizon like a yellow ribbon unspooling, but the hope that accompanied a new day (or a new ribbon) did not lift her spirits. Peggy was moving on. And Lucy was considering moving on, too—marrying a stranger. For a good cause. That mattered more than cold air and an empty chest.

She passed beneath a tree and flicked a leaf. Green and gold and breathing—the world possessed such beauty, such joy. The sunrise passed perfectly through the arched doorway in the tall hedge at the back of the garden, a riot of pinks and purples. It was the sort of sky lovers kissed under, making promises.

She had no need for such skies or kisses or promises.

Then why did her chest ache a bit, and why was her cheek wet?

“Don’t cry, angel.”

She screamed, jumped, whirled and raised a fist, as her brother had taught her to face her attacker.

Who also screamed and whirled around with fisted hands held high to face… no one.

“Who are you?” she demanded. 

He whipped back around, fists loosening as his arms dropped to his sides. “You terrified me. Whew.” He bent double and braced his hands on bent knees, his dark hair falling over his brow. “What a fright you gave me. At least you’re not crying anymore. Would rather cough up my heart than see that again.”

“Who are you?”

He froze, then slowly raised to his full height many, many inches above her own. Not that she had many inches. “I’m, erm, the new stable hand.” He straightened his waistcoat. “You picked me up in London, remember?” He wore simple, dusty, ill-fitting clothing in overlapping shades of brown. Yet, somehow, he did not look like a stable hand at all. How he held himself… the precision of his haircut, the width of his broad shoulders, the haughtiness and confidence of his expression, the cultured tones of his voice … 

“They must make stable hands differently in London,” she said. “You sound like a toff.”

“Indeed they do craft us from a different mold. I worked for a fine family, and they hired only those capable of using accents that didn’t offend their sensitive ears. And they only accepted the best-looking lads. As you can see, perfect specimen that I am, they hired me immediately.” He grinned, a flash of even, white teeth behind firm, well-shaped lips. His thick dark brows arched playfully above eyes the blue of the delphinium lining the walkway behind her. A brown hat perched atop a mop of thick black hair.

Her heart thumped. “Pardon… What were we speaking of?”

He laughed. “I have that effect on women.”

Ah, there—the cursed conceit all men exuded. “You should return to your new work, Mr. …”

“Keats.”

“Mr. Keats, you’d best return to the stables or you’ll find yourself reliant on your good looks to find another position.”

“After you tell me you won’t cry anymore.”

“I wasn’t crying.” She pulled her cloak hood up and over her face.

“Oh yes. Water just leaks from my eyes, too. Quite natural.”

“It’s true. Not that water leaks from—oh. I wasn’t crying. And I’m returning home. Good day.” She dropped a curtsy and headed for the garden arch that opened up into a field beyond. The sun had risen entirely above it now.

He followed, hands stuffed in pockets. “I’ll escort you home. My uncle won’t mind if I’m a bit late for shoveling the horse dung if my reason is so noble.”

“You find irritating women noble?”

“I find saving women noble.” A hard edge to his voice, sudden and shocking like the first winter wind on a warm August day.

She stumbled to a halt, and he slammed into her from behind. He grabbed her out of the air as her body lurched forward. He steadied her, straightened her against his own body. Hard and warm. When she didn’t remove herself immediately from his embrace he flattened his palm against her back, pulling her closer.

“Careful, Miss…?” He arched one brow.

“No need for you to know my name.”

***

I'm so grateful for early review of Curves and Counterfeit!

ChasingHerTale on Instagram says:

"The supporting characters are great, the backstory is well woven, the emotional angst is EVERYTHING and the spice is hot! This is a quick read at 131 pages, and a stunning story told in novella length. I wish there was more!!!"

🥰

I'm so delighted readers are having as much fun reading as I did writing!

Read Curves and Counterfeit!

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Happy reading!

Charlie

(these books will be in KU)

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(these books are in KU)

Read the entire series now!