Title:
The Black Lotus
Author:
Claire Warner
Genre:
Historical Romance with a paranormal twist
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....though
I would dearly love to play court to you, I would hurt you more than any
other.”
It is 1752. The year that will change the life of heiress Melissa De Vire. As she makes her first steps into society, she meets Justin Lestrade and his world tears her perceptions apart. Drawn irresistibly to him, she finds herself sinking into a realm of feuds, magic and old curses.
It is 1752. The year that will change the life of heiress Melissa De Vire. As she makes her first steps into society, she meets Justin Lestrade and his world tears her perceptions apart. Drawn irresistibly to him, she finds herself sinking into a realm of feuds, magic and old curses.
Excerpt:
15th
June 1752
The floor was cold. This first
impression floated through her mind as the deep dark of unconsciousness began
to shift from her. The unyielding surface sent small stabs of pain through her
limbs and confusion set in. Why was she slumped on a hard floor? Her head felt
heavy and somehow hollow, even though the darkness that clouded her vision had
slowly begun to recede. She managed to blink, the mundane task rendered difficult
by the lassitude swamping her. As she struggled closer to full awareness, she
became aware of something clasped in her hand, something smooth with petals.
Despite her temporary lack of memory, its presence between her fingers sparked
a wary, almost sick sensation of worry.
"I think she's waking
up."
A voice, feminine and vaguely
familiar, sounded close to her head. She tried to move, to turn her head to
stare at the speaker, yet her body refused to cooperate, still caught in the
spell of near insensibility.
“Yes, I can see that.” Another
voice, male this time and disapproving, spoke from further away. “You need not
sound so thrilled; I doubt she will welcome you when she opens her eyes.
“Oh, Hugh darling, how can you say
that?” Petulant yet teasing notes flowed through the woman’s light lilting
speech and she longed to see the face that it belonged to. Those tones invoked cautious recognition, a recognition
which did not bring her any sense of peace.
“Because it is the truth,” The man
moved position, coming closer to her prone figure. “Why on earth did you do
it?” The voice dropped lower, becoming accusatory in tone and timbre. She
wondered at this, struggling with tattered threads of memory that refused to
make sense.
“It solved a problem.”
“I beg to differ,” He was standing
over her now; she could feel the tips of his toes against her side. “Do you
think that Justin will thank you?”
Justin, that name caught at her
mind, dragging it free from the sludge her mind had become. She knew that name
and the feelings it provoked were soft and wondrous. Once again the memories
fluttered close to the surface yet she was still not awake enough to make sense
of it all
“He
should,” The voice argued, louder and less teasing than before, “This solves
all,” She felt the woman move, the edge of a skirt brushed against her side and
she wondered how long they were going to stand and argue over her.
Author
Bio:
By day I am a boring civil
servant, but by night (and at weekends) I write stories. I love fiction, I love
the way that words can draw you from your own everyday world.
I love to read. As a child I read all of the Enid Blyton books and devoured Roald Dahl. As a teenager, I discovered LJ Smith, Anne McCaffrey, Tamora Pierce, David Eddings and went through the phase of reading Point Horrors. As an adult, I found Kelley Armstrong, Raymond E Feist, Georgette Heyer, The Brontes, Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Sheridan La Fanu and Henry James. I cannot imagine live without books.
I love to read. As a child I read all of the Enid Blyton books and devoured Roald Dahl. As a teenager, I discovered LJ Smith, Anne McCaffrey, Tamora Pierce, David Eddings and went through the phase of reading Point Horrors. As an adult, I found Kelley Armstrong, Raymond E Feist, Georgette Heyer, The Brontes, Mary Shelley, Bram Stoker, Sheridan La Fanu and Henry James. I cannot imagine live without books.
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