Are you looking for a new Christian Regency with intrigue, romance, and a splash of humor? I’m currently working on Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 8: Traitor, the latest installment in my Christian Regency romantic suspense series featuring lady spies, hidden secrets, and unexpected romance.
This past week, I made great progress—nearly 10,000 words written! My goal is to finish this historical spy romance by July, although if the story grows (as they often do), I’ll soon be shifting to my next project: Bento and Betrayal, a Christian contemporary romantic suspense novella set in Hawaii for the Don’t Blink anthology.
In the meantime, dictating while walking has helped me stay productive and inspired. If you love sneak peeks and work-in-progress excerpts, here’s a snippet from what I wrote:
***
Mr. Norton had been at his leisure during those three weeks, spending more time at his club. He was not a gamester, and The Runny Knees was not known for deep play. However, the members were all avid sportsmen and enjoyed hearty physical activity—as well as the inevitable betting that accompanied it. The betting book was larger than White’s but did not bear the unusual wagers that other establishments boasted. Instead, the stakes were placed upon races—horses and boats, mostly, but some footraces as well—games of cricket, and competitions such as shooting, fencing, or boxing.
Norton greeted some gentlemen sitting in chairs around the large front room, who were either reading the papers or arguing over some carriage race or another. They all returned his greeting with friendliness, and several motioned for him to join them, but he politely refused.
If these men knew Norton’s humble origins, none of them would speak to him. While toiling away as a shipping clerk, he would never have guessed that he would one day be a member of an establishment such as this, catering to the wealthy and to the nobility. These men had no need to know that Norton only possessed one of those.
He admitted to himself that it gave him something of a thrill to walk into this club, to chat with these men who had never known hardship in their lives. But it was his job to make himself agreeable and to listen to whatever idle talk they desired to bestow upon him, because it was in those unguarded words that he could understand a man’s true opinions and feelings. It was often surprising, the truths that lurked deep in a man’s soul, which he always strove to keep hidden. But Norton was a master at digging through the dirt and rock to uncover men’s secret thoughts and plans.
He had made his way around the front room of the club, speaking to all his acquaintances—and he had acquired many, by this point—and he was about to settle down to a delicious dinner and a bottle or two of wine when a man seemed to appear out of thin air.
“Norton,” the harsh voice said. The tall, spare man addressed him familiarly, but there was no warmth or cordiality in his grating tones.
Norton liked to play the reckless fool, for it caused men to underestimate him. In actuality, while his actions were usually very daring, most of the time he had already looked at the situation and conjured up a dozen different ways that everything could go wrong, and considered what he might do in response if any of those occurred. So he had accustomed himself to a certain level of preparedness no matter where he found himself, and he did not like being surprised.
But this man, being here and approaching Norton, was not only a surprise, but a nasty one.
“Mr. Antingham,” Norton said carefully. “I was unaware that you were a member of The Runny Knees.”
Mr. Antingham couldn’t quite suppress the curl of his upper lip as Norton mentioned the name of the club. But he attempted to paste a polite smile upon his face as he said, “Yes, I have been a member for many years, although I rarely spend time here.”
Norton gave terse nods to the two men behind Mr. Antingham. “Mr. Maghew, Mr. Golding.” They were both Antingham’s agents at the Ramparts, and Norton had worked with them a few times. However, Mr. Maghew was the same rank as Norton, and they had butted heads more often than not. Norton found the two men to be inflexible, perfectly willing to obey orders blindly instead of considering other consequences. He himself preferred to think more critically in different situations rather than reacting like a mindless slave.
But Mr. Maghew and Mr. Golding were not members of The Runny Knees, as far as he knew, which meant that all three of them were here for Norton.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he reluctantly asked Mr. Antingham.
“I’d like to have a word with you in private, Mr. Norton. Perhaps you would be so good as to come with me?” Mr. Antingham gave a close-lipped smile.
The senior officer had a wide jaw and a wide mouth, so even his stiffest smile often fooled people into thinking that he was more congenial than he actually was. But Norton knew to look at his cold blue eyes instead to gauge his true emotional state. And he didn’t like what he saw there.
Mr. Antingham looked triumphant, the victor collecting his spoils and trampling his enemies. Norton didn’t have to guess whom he considered his enemy.
He didn’t directly report to Mr. Antingham—in fact, he didn’t directly report to any senior officer at the moment, now that he had been removed from under Mr. Uppleby. Since he was currently working under Drydale in his team, Norton could be considered a direct subordinate of Sir Derrick.
But he didn’t fool himself into thinking that Mr. Antingham’s request was anything less than a direct order. And the fact that Mr. Antingham wanted to remove Norton from the very public venue of this club meant that he wasn’t going to like what followed.
But Norton couldn’t refuse, and Mr. Antingham knew that.
***
Haha, I enjoyed naming Norton’s gentlemen’s club, The Runny Knees. 😝
Start the series with Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer.
In the meantime, dictating while walking has helped me stay productive and inspired. If you love sneak peeks and work-in-progress excerpts, here’s a snippet from what I wrote:
***
Mr. Norton had been at his leisure during those three weeks, spending more time at his club. He was not a gamester, and The Runny Knees was not known for deep play. However, the members were all avid sportsmen and enjoyed hearty physical activity—as well as the inevitable betting that accompanied it. The betting book was larger than White’s but did not bear the unusual wagers that other establishments boasted. Instead, the stakes were placed upon races—horses and boats, mostly, but some footraces as well—games of cricket, and competitions such as shooting, fencing, or boxing.
Norton greeted some gentlemen sitting in chairs around the large front room, who were either reading the papers or arguing over some carriage race or another. They all returned his greeting with friendliness, and several motioned for him to join them, but he politely refused.
If these men knew Norton’s humble origins, none of them would speak to him. While toiling away as a shipping clerk, he would never have guessed that he would one day be a member of an establishment such as this, catering to the wealthy and to the nobility. These men had no need to know that Norton only possessed one of those.
He admitted to himself that it gave him something of a thrill to walk into this club, to chat with these men who had never known hardship in their lives. But it was his job to make himself agreeable and to listen to whatever idle talk they desired to bestow upon him, because it was in those unguarded words that he could understand a man’s true opinions and feelings. It was often surprising, the truths that lurked deep in a man’s soul, which he always strove to keep hidden. But Norton was a master at digging through the dirt and rock to uncover men’s secret thoughts and plans.
He had made his way around the front room of the club, speaking to all his acquaintances—and he had acquired many, by this point—and he was about to settle down to a delicious dinner and a bottle or two of wine when a man seemed to appear out of thin air.
“Norton,” the harsh voice said. The tall, spare man addressed him familiarly, but there was no warmth or cordiality in his grating tones.
Norton liked to play the reckless fool, for it caused men to underestimate him. In actuality, while his actions were usually very daring, most of the time he had already looked at the situation and conjured up a dozen different ways that everything could go wrong, and considered what he might do in response if any of those occurred. So he had accustomed himself to a certain level of preparedness no matter where he found himself, and he did not like being surprised.
But this man, being here and approaching Norton, was not only a surprise, but a nasty one.
“Mr. Antingham,” Norton said carefully. “I was unaware that you were a member of The Runny Knees.”
Mr. Antingham couldn’t quite suppress the curl of his upper lip as Norton mentioned the name of the club. But he attempted to paste a polite smile upon his face as he said, “Yes, I have been a member for many years, although I rarely spend time here.”
Norton gave terse nods to the two men behind Mr. Antingham. “Mr. Maghew, Mr. Golding.” They were both Antingham’s agents at the Ramparts, and Norton had worked with them a few times. However, Mr. Maghew was the same rank as Norton, and they had butted heads more often than not. Norton found the two men to be inflexible, perfectly willing to obey orders blindly instead of considering other consequences. He himself preferred to think more critically in different situations rather than reacting like a mindless slave.
But Mr. Maghew and Mr. Golding were not members of The Runny Knees, as far as he knew, which meant that all three of them were here for Norton.
“What can I do for you, sir?” he reluctantly asked Mr. Antingham.
“I’d like to have a word with you in private, Mr. Norton. Perhaps you would be so good as to come with me?” Mr. Antingham gave a close-lipped smile.
The senior officer had a wide jaw and a wide mouth, so even his stiffest smile often fooled people into thinking that he was more congenial than he actually was. But Norton knew to look at his cold blue eyes instead to gauge his true emotional state. And he didn’t like what he saw there.
Mr. Antingham looked triumphant, the victor collecting his spoils and trampling his enemies. Norton didn’t have to guess whom he considered his enemy.
He didn’t directly report to Mr. Antingham—in fact, he didn’t directly report to any senior officer at the moment, now that he had been removed from under Mr. Uppleby. Since he was currently working under Drydale in his team, Norton could be considered a direct subordinate of Sir Derrick.
But he didn’t fool himself into thinking that Mr. Antingham’s request was anything less than a direct order. And the fact that Mr. Antingham wanted to remove Norton from the very public venue of this club meant that he wasn’t going to like what followed.
But Norton couldn’t refuse, and Mr. Antingham knew that.
***
Haha, I enjoyed naming Norton’s gentlemen’s club, The Runny Knees. 😝
Start the series with Lady Wynwood’s Spies, Volume 1: Archer.
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