Excerpt from the upcoming The Rake of St. Nectan's Glen, book 1 of the Cornish Rakes series by K. R. Richards
K.R. Richards is the author of the Lords of Avalon series; Lord of the Abbey, Lords of Honor, Lords of Retribution, and the companion novella, Lord Greyton's Fall From Grace, are available on Amazon Kindle now. The last book of the Lords of Avalon series, Lords of Atonement will be released in 2014. The Rake of St. Nectan's Glen, a Cornish Rakes novel, will be released in 2014. Book 1 of the new Avalon Society series, Secrets of the Shroud series, will be released in 2015. To connect with K. R. Richards go to http://mayitellyouastory.com or www.facebook.com/K.R.Richards.author
Please let me know what you think of the excerpt from The Rake of St. Nectan's Glen
Gideon had to remember what happened that day. He had to know if what he dreamt had truly
happened twelve years ago. It seemed returning home had made him see all of
the selfish errors he made in the past that he had either forgotten or never
realized. Actions that hurt his family and Phoebe. He was determined to make
amends for all of his mistakes. Every last one of them.
Deep in thought, he strolled along the footpath
beside the river Trevillet that lead through the ancient forest of the Glen. He
didn’t realize he was close until he heard the roar of the falls just ahead. He
was anxious to see the Kieve. He and Phoebe spent much time there together
during their childhood. Some of his fondest memories had been at the waterfall
with her. He could not remember coming to the place since that day in question long
ago. He had come to the waterfall today in hopes it would help him remember the
details of the incident that tormented him. The occurrence that last night’s
disturbing dream had brought to the forefront.
In his younger years, he always thought of the
Kieve as their special place. He walked toward the spot he knew would afford
him a view of the waterfall as it plunged way down to the deep rock basin
below. After the water swirled within the confines of the stone basin, it
rushed through a large hole, shaped like a perfect circle, forming a wide, shallow
pool below. Surrounded by walls of slate on three sides, the water moved
through the pool and swirled around a bend. It spilled over rocks then ran
swiftly along out of sight, where it continued through the wood and past an old
mill toward Rocky Valley where it rushed and cascaded through the slippery,
slate canyon and emptied into the sea.
When he reached the vantage point where fern
and ivy tangled and hung down the rock walls alongside the falls, he heard the
tinkling of laughter.
His gaze moved immediately to the pool beyond.
There he saw her. Phoebe laughed as her dog splashed about her, a large stick
in his mouth. She tugged on it and eventually the canine let go. She threw the
stick to the other side of the pool. The dog bounded through the water after
it. Again she laughed.
“Good boy,” she rewarded the returning chestnut
colored dog with a pat on the head.
The edges of her cream-colored skirts were pulled
up and tied loosely about her waist. She had tried to hike up her petticoats
also, but without as much success. A pair of quite gorgeous calves, slender and
shapely, peeked from beneath her dampened petticoats. When she squatted down
and began examining rocks she pulled from the bottom of the shallow pool, he
realized just how her calves had come to be so well formed. She seemed
perfectly at ease in that position. He guessed she spent a great deal of time
squatting exactly like that while working with her father and brother in their
archaeological pursuits.
As was quite a common occurrence with Phoebe,
her unruly, dark reddish-brown curls had fallen from her hairpins and cascaded
down her back. Visions from his dream and snatches of his memory assaulted him.
There would be tiny droplets from the fall’s mist clinging to her wild curls as
well as her eyelashes.
Memories of sweet, tender kisses from that day
long ago, when their young love blossomed at this very spot, flooded into his
mind. He pushed them away. As was also a common occurrence when he was near
Phoebe, his senses were alive. He teetered in a near state of arousal.
He decided not to spoil such a beautiful
moment. God knew he had made a mess of things already. He felt like an
intruder. He would leave her to her privacy and go back the way he had come. He
was about to turn away and walk back through the ancient wood alone when the
exquisite canine noticed his presence. His barks echoed in the magical space
enclosed by slate walls.
Phoebe looked up, alarm marring her features at
first. Her frown disappeared when she recognized him. She smiled, waving up at
him.
“Gideon! You’ve come to the Kieve, I see.”
Phoebe had to search for words. She was surprised to see him here. She hadn’t
slept well. She was plagued by dreams and memories after seeing him yesterday.
She left her bed at daybreak and came to the falls. It was still her special
place, even long after Gideon left St. Gerwyn’s Manor.
She rose from her squatting position.
Remembering her skirts and petticoats were hiked up, she started to fuss with
them and pulled the corners of fabric down so Gideon would not see her bare
calves. He would no doubt disapprove of her appearance. Since Gideon left
twelve years ago, she had often seen the disapproval in his eyes when he looked
her way during one of his brief visits to Cornwall. Her foot slipped on a slick
stone, and she fell backwards, landing in the pool on her backside with her
knees bent in front of her.
“Oh, heavens,” she grumbled. Of all the times to take a tumble.
Anubis splashed around her, sniffing and
kissing her.
“I’m fine, boy. I’m fine.” Embarrassment flamed
upon her cheeks. Mr. Proper London Gentleman
would not be impressed. She sighed heavily. It did not matter.
Anubis dropped his stick in her lap and smiled
at her, his tongue lolling before he let go a high-pitched bark. She laughed
and threw the stick as far as she could so that she might try to get up without
the hound hovering over her.
With Anubis out of the way, she saw Gideon,
dressed in his dashing London finery, coming down the steep slate-stepped path
to get to her.
“Oh, Gideon, please, I am fine. If you come
down here, you will surely ruin your boots and fine clothes. I can get up on my
own, I assure you.”
He did look fine. His dark brown hair was neatly
combed and his brown coat, probably the closest he had to country wear, fit him
perfectly. His waistcoat was green and gold silk. His intricately knotted
cravat was quite out of place in such a tiny hamlet in North Cornwall. She
didn’t miss how well his buff trousers fit his long, powerful legs or the high
shine of his black boots. Gideon had always been handsome, he was more so now
if that were possible. Even with the stubble of whiskers along his jaw and chin.
“Stay where you are Phoebe. I’ll not leave a
lady on her arse in a pool. I shall help you.”
Phoebe sighed heavily. She remained where she
was. She assumed Gideon was as stubborn as he used to be, and there was no
ladylike way to get up on her own.
“Gideon, take care. It is very slippery if you will
remember,” she said as she saw him slip slightly as he stepped into the pool.
“I remember, Phoebe.” He waded toward her, the
water swirling about his shiny boots. He stepped upon an unstable rock. It was mossy
and proved to be as slippery as glass. His leg slid out from under him. He
tried to right himself. That action resulted in him falling forward, arms flailing.
He fell into the pool.
He landed with his face partly in the water,
between Phoebe’s bent legs. He realized he was looking at the part of her
anatomy that had kept him awake all night. It was there just inches from his
face, covered by her sodden skirts, but there. Nothing like getting to the root of the problem.