Historical Romance, Historical Suspense, Regency Romance, Inspirational Fiction

Publisher: Barbour Books (April 1, 2023)

They Waited Their Whole Lives for Their Papa to Return

Nan and Heath Duncan, siblings abandoned by their papa and abused by their guardian, have no choice but to survive on the London streets. When a kind gentleman rescues Nan from such a life, the siblings are separated and raised in two vastly different social worlds. Just when both are beginning to flourish and years have healed some of their wounds, their long-awaited papa returns and reunites them--bringing demands with him. Nan is expected to marry a rich suitor she's never liked, and Heath is expected to forsake his gentle spirit and become the hardened man his father always was.

Dangers unfold, secret love develops, fights ensue, and murder upsets the worlds Heath and Nan have built for themselves. They've waited their whole lives for their papa to return, for tomorrow to come--but now that it has, will they be able to see through to the truth and end this whirlwind of a nightmare before it costs one of their lives?

Excerpt

Gilbert crept behind Nan. She sat so still and concentrated at the sitting room writing table, her head bent over a crisp, neatly written letter. But her curls. How tiny and soft as they drooped down her neck and caught morning sunrays in their spirals. Had she no inkling he was two steps behind her?

In one flashing movement, he swiped the letter from her fingers. “By Jove, what does it say?”

A jump, a small gasp, then she twisted in her seat. “Gil! You are terrible to frighten me so—now give it back!”

He retreated, lifted the letter above him. “I am in great agonies over this. You must appease me. What does it say?”

“Do not be ridiculous. You are as bad as Temperance.” She rose and came toward him, then held out her hand as if she imagined he would return the letter to her palm. “Come on, place it here.”

“Or what?”

“Or I shall tell Mr. Stanhope his son has gone mad.”

“Perhaps he has.” The letter raised a little higher when she made a jump for it. “And shall doubtless go madder still if he is not granted permission to see this letter. After all, it took you long enough to read it. I have no doubt but that it is of the greatest interest.”

“You are vexing me!” A laugh broke from her lips. How fondly and warmly it spread throughout the room, as she weaved around him and strove for the letter. “I have not time for such childish games. Can you not see I am busy?” Another laugh. She stepped upon a rolled-arm bench and made yet another grasp.

He dangled it out of her reach.

She stretched inches toward him.

And somehow, by some wretched disaster, she lost balance and came tumbling. Tumbling toward him. Tumbling into his arms. Tumbling against his chest, where those curls he had resolved to only look at now touched him.

This was a mistake. He should not have followed her into the sitting room. He should not have made sport with her and pretended they were children again. He was not the old Gil, and she was not the little Nan. They were changed, irrevocably changed, in ways he wasn’t brave enough to face.

Heavens, why didn’t she pull away? How long would she stay here, close to him like this? An eternity was already gone, but it’d only been seconds. Impossible, possible . . . he didn’t know anything.

His arms were moving up, not away. They were guiding his hands to her face, where his scandalous fingers seeped into the curls. How oddly she looked at him. Not as one frightened, only confused.

If she would step away, he would have control again. He could stop himself. Could end this self-destructive madness.

But she stood still until he dropped his mouth to hers. Hesitated. Breathed. Then pressed—with a passion so alive it sailed him away, tossed him in a storm of wonder and fear.

She tasted of everything he’d ever expected. Sweet gentleness, rich womanhood, tender innocence and—

She flung herself back so quickly he flinched. She took one step. Then two. Then three, until her legs hit that fateful, horrendous bench. Why didn’t she say something?

She stared at him as if he’d injured or compromised her. Stared at him with tears so big and confused he wanted to drown in them.

Then she bolted from the room.

Part of him wanted to run after her. The larger part of him couldn’t. God, where is Thy mercy? He dragged a shaking hand across his mouth, the mouth she had touched. How long can I endure this?

As if in answer, he spotted the letter he had stolen from her grasp. He bent down but didn’t touch.

My Darling Nan,

Mother wishes that I should invite the Stanhopes and yourself to Bletherton Manor for the twelve days of Christmas. We are to have a ball like no other for Epiphany, and there shall be much gaiety and dancing and food. I do hope everyone can come. All that aside, however, I should wish you to be there for a more intimate reason, a more significant reason. For you see, my darling, there is something I have wished to ask you for a very long time. I was uncertain what your answer might have been before, but feel more confidence now. I have no doubt but that it shall make us both greatly happy.

The letter was signed lovingly by the dragon.

The man who was breathing fire upon Gilbert Stanhope and burning him alive.

Chapter 21, pages 214-216

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About the Author

by Books & Such, she writes Regency romantic suspense novels. She is a double 2021 Selah Award winner, a 2022 Selah Award finalist, and a member of American Christian Fiction Writers (ACFW). Hannah is a Graphic Design associate degree graduate who specializes in professional book cover design. She designs for both traditional publishing houses and individual authors, including New York Times, USA Today, and international bestsellers. She is also a local photographer and a self-portrait photographer. When Hannah is not writing, she enjoys playing her instruments--piano, guitar, and ukulele--songwriting, painting still life, walking in the rain, and sitting on the front porch of her 1800s farmhouse.