Regency Romance Writer Olivia Charles
Shy Anna thrusts her assistance onto an injured Lord Grey. His cruel words has Anna regretting her actions until she realizes his heart needs mending as much as his injuries.
Romance writer Olivia Charles is writing her latest book. Here is an excerpt from 'Grey's Manor'.
Gripping pain told him he'd broken a rib at least. . He moved his leg and felt a sharp stab. His teeth clenched. Not his leg, too. He lay flat on his back staring at the sky through a hole in the roof. Dust still swirled about as a clay tile broke loose from above and fell to his left. His friends who knew him as elegant the Henry Edward Yelverton, the 19th Baron Grey de Ruthyn would never recognize him like this, covered with dust where he lay in a pile of rubble. But right now he wished desperately for one of his friends.
'Grey, are you all right?' His valet called to him.
He moved his head and groaned. 'Pearce, I’m still alive, if that's what you mean.' Was it possible to see stars in the daylight? He closed his eyes to stop the spinning.
'Well sir, why did you do a silly thing like caving in the roof? Now what are we to do?'
Grey stared at the dust still floating around. 'I'm still assessing the damages.' As best as he could laying on roofing tiles and timbers.
'We best be getting you out of there. Can you stand up? Or would it be better to crawl out?'
'How much collapsed, Pearce?' He was buying time, waiting for the pounding of his head to stop before he tried to stand. He moved his arm and the pain in his side intensified.
'From here, sir, it seems just the section over the buttery fell, where we thought was unstable. That bit over the kitchen is still up.'
For about the twentieth time in two days he cursed his grandfather for letting the house go to shambles. It would be many months and thousands of guineas to put Brandon Manor back to its glory. He sighed, wincing at the poke in his ribs. He could not put full blame on Lord Sussex. The old man died ten years ago and Grey hadn't been here since. He was just as guilty of neglect.
'Grey? You going to get out of there?'
No, Pearce, he thought to himself. I'm going to sit her all day. Pearce was at the door trying to move some of the wreckage. Twenty feet of debris lay between himself and the escape.
'I'm trying to move these timbers, sir, but I can’t do it myself.'
'Can I be of assistance?' A woman’s bonnet bobbed in the window near his valet and her voice floated to Grey. The sound was pure music. Her intonation had a melodic quality not heard often. The words seemed to waft over the air to him and conjured up visions of clouds. Did angels have sweet voices? He then became annoyed with himself for his ridiculous wandering thoughts. It was just a woman. How could a woman be helpful in this situation?
'Sure miss,' Grey growled at her, 'find a couple of strong fellows. That’s how you can help.'
'Don't go away. I’ll be right back.'
As if he could go anywhere.