I’m celebrating a great few writing weeks with a lovely pic of Richard Armitage in North and South. Why? Well, he is my muse for Adam Freeman from Introducing Mr. Winterbourne and I am, right now, writing A Winterbourne Christmas which will be out this year!
This comes after me recently completing the first draft of book one in my new historical werewolves series which I’m super-excited about – the Winterbourne holiday book is a fun palate cleanser before I go back to the wolves WIP for my first ‘layering-in’ revision (is ma process…)
I’m having a LOT of fun with this Winterbourne story, gleefully mining my favourite Regency romance tropes and elements, in particular the house party. I have lots of interesting guests: Arabella Cavendish will be back, along with her hunky brother Perry, Lysander’s sister Gwen, a sexy debauched older aristocrat, a mysterious Italian gentleman and Miss Greenhill, the prim companion of Lysander’s eccentric great aunt Maud.
This is pre house party:
Adam woke to the unmistakable sound of a cup of tea being stirred, the domestic tinkle of a silver teaspoon against porcelain.
Yawning, he stretched and opened his eyes. Lysander was standing at the window, naked, his slim, strong body beautiful in the weak winter sunlight. In his hands he held a cup and saucer. Fine eggshell porcelain decorated with delicate pink roses, absurdly dainty in his capable, masculine hands.
Lysander hadn’t yet noticed that Adam had woken up. He was gazing out at the grounds of Edgeley Park, his expression peaceful, a small smile playing about his lips.
“Aren’t you cold?” Adam said sleepily.
Lysander turned, his small smile growing into a bigger one, happiness in his blue eyes to find his lover had awoken.
Was there anything better than that? Being looked at like that, by the person you were in love with?
In love! Him, Adam Freeman!
“Oh, you know me,” Lysander said, setting the cup and saucer down on a side table before pacing back to the bed. “I’m on the hot-blooded side.”
Adam reached for him as he drew near, pulling him down to land heavily on Adam, making Lysander laugh when Adam gave an unexpected ooof!
“Hot-blooded you may be,” Adam agreed, when he had his breath back, “but your skin’s like ice. Let me warm you, beautiful boy.”
Lysander chuckled happily. “Boy,” he scoffed.
“Always my boy.”