In a recent issue of Romance Writers Report, there appeared an article about authors with attention deficit disorder. A primary requirement for many of these unfortunate souls is absolute silence before they can jot down a word. This revelation has led me to believe I’ve got a burning case of ADD.
When I’m not being distracted from writing by pine cones falling, trucks passing, or the thump of my cat as she dismounts from her favorite chair, I tutor. One student meets me at a small library in New York State, which is run by the world’s loudest librarians. These ladies treat the place like it’s their private social club; they talk at full volume, shout across the room, and chatter like parakeets behind the checkout desk. The ringleader is a tall, thin thing with half orange, half white hair, which she parts so not a single orange strand mingles with a single white strand. Plus, she wears horn-rimmed glasses and is nasty.
One time, my student and I arrived to find her and another librarian gossiping in the study room we’d grown accustomed to using. Very politely, I asked if they’d be in there much longer. “What are you, a tutor?” she asked, emphasizing “tutor” as if it were slang for poop. “Tutors aren’t allowed in here. You can use one of those tables.” She waved at a few knee-high structures in the Children’s Section.
We slunk into the tiny chairs and tried to get through the lesson. As she and her compatriots bellowed above our heads, I thanked fate for not making me a citizen of this besieged township. Libraries, after all, are typically a refuge for those of us with an anchovy’s attention span.
A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing
In Lord Hugh Davenport’s opinion, women of the tonperpetually hide behind a mask of deception. That’s hard for Ellie Albright, the daughter of an earl, to swallow—especially since she’s disguised herself as a stable hand to get back the prized stallion her father sold to Hugh to pay a debt. If Hugh learns her true identity she’ll lose the horse and her family will go bankrupt. Somehow, though, losing Hugh’s affection is beginning to seem even worse…
Already only a step away from being snagged in her own web of lies, Ellie’s deceit threatens to spin out of control when Hugh’s mother invites Ellie and her sisters to a house party. Now Ellie has to scramble to keep Hugh from knowing she’s the stable girl he wants to marry, while simultaneously trying to win his trust as herself. Can she keep her costumes straight long enough to save her family? And even if she does, will it be worth losing his love?
EXCERPT from A Rogue in Sheep’s Clothing
Ellie took a few limping steps after him. “I’ll need your assistance.” He came back and eyed her suspiciously. “Your arm, in fact,” she told him.
His lips hardened, but he looped her arm through his. As they passed a row of seated grande dams, every eye watched with envy.
At an alcove, Hugh stopped to let her pass. “In here,” he said.
“I can’t go in there alone with you.”
“Did you see a free chair on the floor?” he said. “Because what I saw was a row of plump sugar plums, and none of them likely to abandon her seat.”
“People will say I’ve been compromised.”
“Nonsense. I couldn’t possibly compromise anyone in an alcove shielded by a simple palm tree. A young lady compromised in such a manner either wants to be or wants to pretend she was. Which one are you?”
“Neither,” snapped Ellie.
“Then sit.” He whacked back the palm revealing a gilded bench by the wall. “Besides,” he continued, following her into the alcove, “your reputation will swell in direct correlation to the amount of time spent in my company.”
As she sat, she rolled her eyes. “La, what an extraordinary view of oneself.”
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