Wednesday, 18 July 2018

#MidWeekTease with a man who wonders what he's let himself in for

Hi everyone,

sorry this was late but I've been travelling back from France and wow what an amazing time i've had.

But in the car for 8 hours means I had no chance to do this, so here we are. A wee tease from a WIP that my or may not become a full blown book (but I hope it does)

Working title The Duke and The Dancer (Regency)

A club for unconventional females?
Never! The ton would be scandalised.
However, that didn’t matter to the members. They weren’t ton material.
As for scandal?
It was their middle name.

Chapter One

“I think M’sieur your request is unusual and perhaps unacceptable.” Why on earth was she so outraged? And why when she was in a temper did her Gallic ancestry appear so strongly? She might be named Celine Bouvier, and have a French father—a Compte who sadly did not survive the revolution, and hadn’t known he was about to become a father—but she thought of herself as Scottish. Her mama, the former Catriona Sempill, born in Peebles, and now one Lady McAlpine, of Castle Foil, would laugh and shake her head at that, and insist her papa’s side was strongest, but Celine had her doubts. After all, the only papa she knew was a Scottish laird. He—Duncan—also had a fiery temper, and she was convinced she had absorbed that from the man she adored. Nevertheless, wherever she had got it from, never before had she experienced such an instant and hot surge of anger as she did over the Duke of Anster’s suggestion.
Which she allowed, was not so unreasonable in the circumstances.
“It is not convenable.” Lud what did she sound like? Worse than even the most starchiest of the grand dames. So not like her normal unstuffy self. However what he asked for was ridiculous. Scary and impossible.
“I can not do it,” Celine added for emphasis. “Do-dhèanta.” Strange how when riled she used the language of her adopted homeland.
He raised one dark eyebrow, in supposed incredulity. “Will not or can not?”
“Either. Both. It is not possible.”
Has no one ever denied him anything before? Somehow she doubted it.
“To dance for me? In private? Surely you are wrong,” he drawled, every inch the aristocrat he undoubtedly was.
His voice gave her the most peculiar sensation, deep inside her body. Almost as if it was daring her to unwind, let herself be temped and...
And nothing. I can not, and will not let him tempt me.
 To tempt what she had no idea but the way her nerves were dancing and the fine hairs on her arm stood on end it wasn’t to read out aloud from an book to improve your mind.
“Non,” she said again. This time she hoped she sounded as if she meant it.
“Oh I think you are wrong.” There was that hint of a challenge once more.
Damn him.
“After all that is your job is it not? As a dancer, here in this establishment you are employed to dance for the customers. I am a customer; you are the entertainment. They are the facts.”
 There was little she could answer. No Sir, I am not a dancer, but the bookkeeper, who stood in for a friend who has la grippe and the owner, Madame Solange, my friend was in a panic? That wouldn’t show the club up in a good light. The last thing she wanted to do was damage the club’s reputation, but she knew her limits. To be for want of a better word, brazen, was not in her psyche.
Somehow, however, to dance to one person, in private didn’t sit well with her. It had been hard enough to dress in Mary’s costume and perform with the other girls, even though she had learned the routines for fun and exercise. It wasn’t always easy in the capital to get out and walk her fidgets off, and an energetic dance class worked almost as well.
It was a pity he was so personable, and also it seemed so intractable. The man appeared to be uninterested in her protestations. Almost Celine decided as if he asked her just to see what her reaction would be.
Her mind went into panic mode. The closure of the club. Solange and her husband destitute! All the girls cast out onto the street or working somewhere seedy. All because of her.
But then, a solo dance would surely show her up for the fraud she was anyway, so was that any better? Especially as these private entertainments had no music. The music was supposed to be in the dancer’s head.
Lord what a fix she was in.

Carch all the other #SexySnippets posts 


  1. that is a pickle. I hope he doesn't press too hard.

  2. I don't think he cares much for how good she might be, I think he just wants her to dance for him. I don't think he's going to give up.

  3. Sounds like you have her trapped between a rock and a hard place. Well done!