Sunday Snippet, 3.19.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance, Oak King Holly King – available now wherever fine books are found!


The terrible impact rang out across the field like a thunderbolt cleaving a tree in twain.

Wren’s hands flew to his mouth. The crowd leapt and cheered, surging in a bloodthirsty tide. The young man amidst the milkmaids let out a particularly gruesome guffaw. Wren didn’t dare breathe. It seemed the world had ceased turning the instant the blow fell.

The sword had struck Shrike in the side. The Holly King’s blade came away crimson. And the horrible noise, the crunch of metal against boiled leather and bone—

But Shrike rolled.

At first it seemed as though the force of the blow had thrown him aside, but as Wren watched him tumble, he realized Shrike had purposefully dodged. Not entirely, not quite fast enough for that, but dodged all the same, and when his feet came under him again he staggered upright.

And Wren’s hopes rose with him.


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Sunday Snippet, 2.19.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian cross-class romance, Mr Warren’s Profession, featuring hurt/comfort and a happily-ever-after – available now wherever fine books are found!


“Then to business: our dear Lindsey, and his best interests.”

Aubrey resisted the urge to plant his forehead in his palms. “If I may be so bold as to interrupt, I believe I’ve already held this conversation with Sir Lindsey’s friends.”

“Have you?” said Miss Althorp coolly. “And what sort of conversation was it?”

“The sort where I’m told to bring no harm to Sir Lindsey, lest greater harm fall on my head.”

Miss Althorp caught a fluttering laugh in her delicate fingers. In response to Aubrey’s bewildered expression, she replied, “That wasn’t the conversation I had in mind. I intended to congratulate you on the happiness you’ve brought Lindsey, and to express my hope that you’ll continue to make him just as happy in the future.”

Aubrey thought it was rather the same talk dressed up in different clothes, but kept that thought to himself.


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Sunday Snippet, 2.12.23

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian whaling romance, HOLD FAST – available now wherever fine books are found.


A sailor stood across the way by the very lamppost Morgan had abandoned to approach the ship. Many of his shipmates milled about nearby, but this particular sailor attracted Morgan’s attention by standing quite literally head and shoulders above the rest. He had a broad, bearded face to match his broad, brawny shoulders. Years of open-sea sun had tanned his skin and bleached his hair to the same shade. The hair—tied back, with the ends flitting about in the sea breeze, strands stiff with salt—drew more of Morgan’s interest than he would have liked to admit.

The sailor caught Morgan’s eye over the crowd, and winked.

Morgan quickly glanced away, intending to keep walking, but stopped as a thought occurred to him. The sailor had lately crewed aboard the Gayheader. Perhaps he knew where Morgan might find his quarry. Resigned, he crossed the wharf and approached him. “Your pardon, sir.”

“Granted.” A cocky grin flashed through the sailor’s grizzled beard, turning his aspect from ferocious to friendly in an instant. He rested a hand against the lamppost. Ragged blue lines across his knuckles spelled out H-O-L-D. A glance at his other hand, planted on his sinewy hip, showed the letters F-A-S-T.

Morgan forced his gaze back up to the sailor’s face. “I’m looking for Sir Evelyn Winthrop.”

The sailor’s eyes widened, but his grin never faded. “You’re in luck, mate. You’ve found the very man.”


HOLD FAST is a gay Victorian romance between a whaling harpooner who inherits a baronetcy and the estate agent tasked with turning him from sailor to gentleman – available now wherever fine books are found.

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Sunday Snippet, 12.18.22

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance collection, Tales from Blackthorn Briar, a sequel to Oak King Holly King featuring hurt/comfort and many happily-ever-afters – available wherever fine books are found!


Fae recovered from injury far faster than mortals.

Shrike had always known this. Yet to have proof of it before him now, in the form of his beloved enduring day after day of agony, wrested his heart in twain.

The skull-crusher bite would’ve laid Shrike up, true enough, but he would have fully recovered within a few months, if not in a fortnight or two. It staggered him to hear from the chirurgeon’s own lips that his Wren would require years to regain his strength.

And for Wren to think of Shrike’s suffering when Wren himself lay overcome with pain was more than Shrike could well bear.


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Sunday Snippet, 9.25.22

Sunday Snippet from my gay Victorian fae romance collection, Tales from Blackthorn Briar, a sequel to Oak King Holly King featuring hurt/comfort and many happily-ever-afters – available wherever fine books are found!


A gentleman stood at the bottom of the stair.

Not, Ephraim realised with a sinking heart, Lofthouse or Felix. The gentleman stood far too tall to pass for either—more in line with Tolhurst or Butcher. As he turned his face upward to meet Ephraim’s stare, he revealed a face which couldn’t have seen many days beyond thirty years. And a handsome face, at that. One that bore a sun-kissed brow, dark yet twinkling eyes, a long nose with a noble arch, a jaw strong enough to attract notice even beneath the close-trimmed black beard, and full lips beneath the moustache that wore a smile like sunshine breaking through storm-clouds.

Ephraim’s pulse gave an uncomfortable flutter, as it sometimes did when he arose too quickly from his desk.

“Good morrow, sir!” said the gentleman in a hearty tone. Ephraim couldn’t quite place his accent—a very slight one, with a touch of a burr and a hint of a lilt which defied all efforts to pin it down. The deep bass of his voice thrummed through Ephraim’s own ribs in a manner which made his knees feel weak for reasons beyond rheumatism.

Ephraim put these feelings away into a little locked drawer in his mind, as he always did, and cleared his throat.


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