Welcome to my blog, Brian. Can you briefly tell my readers about the man inside the man? What makes you tick?
Hello, Marie. Thank ye fer havin' me to visit today.
I suppose I'm like any other man lookin' to find his place in the world. After me parents died I was raised in a Dublin orphanage and it didn't take long fer me to realize I wanted much more from life than what was expected of me. I ran away from the nuns as soon as I turned fifteen, lied about me age and enlisted in the army.
When you first met Lydia, what happened? What went through your mind?
Prettiest girl at the country ball, I daresay. It was a week before me regiment was to deploy to fight the French. I was feeling a might full of meself, had just been promoted to Captain ya see, and asked her to dance. I snared her token earlier in the day at a parade and couldn't resist the chance to meet her in person. It wasn't until later I learned she was the general's daughter.
What makes Lydia unforgettable?
Her spirit. Nothin' gets that girl down. And she's damned stubborn. Can't take no for an answer.
Brian, I was so impressed when you risked your life to save Lydia. Tell us about one of your hair-raising experiences.
Aye, well, she saved my life a time or two as well. I shall never forget when I caught her outside the barn, dressed in boys breeches, attemptin' to make off with one of her father's horses. I couldn't imagine why a girl with everythin' would wish to run away. Anyhow, I dragged her kickin' and fightin' back to the barn where we stumbled upon a powerful man, Felix Keith, committin' cold blooded murder. Lydia and I scrambled to stay alive. Even as I tried to send her away to protect her she refused to leave me in the path of harm.
If you could pick your favorite thing about Lydia, what would it be?
Her eyes. She always says they're boring and brown with boring brown hair to match, but the lass is wrong. Her eyes are the color of honey.
Brian, thank you for letting me interview you. Now…let’s tease my readers. What is your favorite scene, and would you like to leave an excerpt for us to drool over…um, I mean read?
The low hum of voices drifted down from the loft. Heart in her throat, Lydia jumped straight up in the air, yanked on the horse’s bridle and half-dragged the mare from the barn. She could not be caught now.
In the yard Lydia kept her back to the wedding pavilion, her father would be devastated on the morrow, but for once she was making a decision on her own… for herself. How often had Sir William lectured on the importance of “creating opportunities for oneself”?
She palmed the reins, turned the stirrup out and lifted her leg to mount.
A dark shadow grazed her peripheral vision a split second before the solid weight of a man plunged headlong into her, bearing her brutally to the unforgiving ground. “Ouff!” The wind rushed from her lungs. Her head swam and for a moment separating the stars spattered across the heavens from the stars floating before her eyes was impossible.
“Just what is this all about, boy?” The man pinned her hands above her head. “Lookin’ to steal Sir William’s horse are ye?”
Lydia blinked, once, twice, trying to halt the world spinning around her. For a moment she lay stunned, staring up at her attacker. The breath froze in her throat. Lying on top of her was the vision of her dark knight. The very soldier she’d danced with and dreamt of for four years thereafter. Brian Donnelly. He may well have stepped from a page in her sketchbook. His wildly curling hair shone black in the dim light of the night, his dark brow furrowed over glistening pale eyes, and—
“What the hell?” Brian’s gaze raked critically over her face. He reached up to snatch the tweed cap from her head. Disbelief washed over his features. “Miss Covington?”
Not even a flicker of the man she’d known four years ago touched his eyes. Her heart, the whole of her soul, ached. “Yes,” she spat, at last regaining her voice. “Now kindly get off of me. It’s rather difficult to breath.” Lydia couldn’t be sure if the difficulty stemmed from his bulk or the overpowering thrill of his presence.
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