WORK-IN-PROGRESS WEDNESDAY!

Hope you enjoy this week's snippet from my work-in-progress.  Thanks for taking a minute to read it!

Although Rupert attended the parish church that Sunday in anticipation of finding Alexandra there, he was disappointed in that as well.  Penelope Bedford, however, was there and made no small spectacle of herself, her voluptuous form too frivolously clad for church, to say nothing of her seductive walk, a deliberate movement set to inflame the heathen imagination of every male she passed.  He kept a safe distance and only offered her a bow when her eyes coyly flitted up and down his person, a jezebel smile curling her tinted lips.

Work-In-Progress Wednesday

Thank you friends for taking a moment to read this week's snippet from my work-in-progress!

“You are right, of course, my dear, but I should very much like to know more of the particulars.”  Mrs. Dancy sighed heavily and abandoned their bench to pluck off the last bloom dangling on a near-dead rose bush behind them.  She held the fragile survivor to her nose and inhaled as half the petals fell away and floated to the ground.  “Well, it is no use,” she said as she waved the same hand in frustration, causing the remaining petals to take flight.

Work-In-Progress Wednesday

I hope you enjoy this week's sample from my work-in-progress.  Thank you for taking the time to read this post.

In one, swift move, Rupert bent his upper body over the brass tub and dumped the pitcher’s contents over his head. Profound grief surged through every muscle and sucked away those last traces of strength that had carried him to Bath.  The white ceramic pitcher slipped from his fingers and shattered against the washroom floor.  Rivulets of water ran across his eyes and carried away bitter tears as they trailed down his face and across the firm musculature of his chest.  “Would to God I had never met you, Alexandra Dancy!” he cried out and brought his fist hard against the wall.

Wednesday-Work-In-Progress

Okay, I am going to post a snippet of raw, unedited writing tonight just as it fell from my brain.  I know it needs reworking, but I just thought it would be fun to post it exactly as it came to me, for better or worse.

A hard pull on his cravat resulted in an unyielding knot, and after a few unproductive tugs at the intractable rebel, Carrington leaned against the mantel and closed his eyes to calm an escalating frustration. He at last coaxed the twisted mass from its stranglehold on his neck, wadded it into a ball, and threw it with some force atop of his coats and dropped into the other great chair as his butler arrived with a brandy.  “Ah, Higgins, you cannot conceive the pleasure it is to be home.”