A time-travel excerpt, Beyond the Fall, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

Tired of the gloomy winter? Enjoy a trip to the past as soon to be divorced, San Franciscan Tamara falls back

200 years to a gritty England caught up in grain riots.

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Excerpt: Cornwall 1789

Tamara ran down the porch steps and across the yard to better see. Colum marched near the rear of the mob as if he were a herding collie. In a rumble of fury and feet, men were chanting, fists raised. Birds flew from the trees and scattered into the sky like confetti.

She hiked up her skirt and hurried to the end of their lane. A group of women swept up behind her. “Come along, an’ fight for our rights to have our bread.” One woman grabbed her arm and dragged Tamara with them. “An’ for our men to earn good wages.”

“I’m all for your rights.” Tamara skidded beside the scruffy woman who smelled of beer and bad breath, her teeth yellow, two missing. She tried to tug herself loose, then decided she needed to follow Colum and see what hazard he might encounter, or cause.

She finally pulled free of her escort and wended forward through the people, her long skirt slapping against her legs.

The marchers trudged on, up the main road that headed north, shouting, “Cheaper bread, fair wages!”

Dust clotted in Tamara’s nose as she squeezed through the crowd. She was used to long walks but not in awkward clothing. She tripped and rushed on, trying to catch up with Colum who had melted into the horde of men.

More people joined them. The mob closed in around her, poking and prodding, stinking of sweat. They followed the rocky coast gouged with inlets along Falmouth Bay. The salty breeze blew over her, teasing at tendrils of her hair.

She took an elbow to the ribs, a shoulder to her chin, but kept pushing through. Now she was glad for her sturdy hiking boots.

Her knees and ankles began to ache, a blister forming on one foot, as more time passed. She swiped perspiration from her face.

Louder shouts and curses erupted as they approached the outskirts of the larger town of Falmouth four miles to the north. In the distance, houses clustered on an incline, and a castle squatted on a peninsula that jutted out into the Carrick Roads she recalled from her map.

Elegant buildings sat among smaller cottages with thatched roofs. How beautiful it all looked, unmarred by modern intrusions. Yet here she was in the middle of an agitated throng. Her breath heaved. Where was Colum?

Gunshots pierced the air. The soldiers bore down on them. Terror coursed through her. She could be killed, forever stranded in the past.


Diane lives in Western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. 

Her Vanquished Land, a sexy Welshman and a torn loyalist during the American Revolution, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

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Read an excerpt:

Philadelphia, PA 1780

Darkness increased as the sun lowered when Rowena and Sam approached the tavern. The close-in buildings further shaded Fourth Street and Chestnut Street, the corner on which the Indian Queen stood. Each nook and cranny, every shadow, had her flitting her gaze about, hand on her muff pistol in the frock coat’s pocket.

She checked behind her again, to see if anyone followed. They’d snuck out the rear door, through her aunt’s garden, praying no guard would catch them.

“My aunt said many rebel delegates lodged at this tavern when they discussed their plans to form their own government,” she whispered. “And cut their allegiance to Great Britain.”

Expansive and three stories high, the Indian Queen boasted an almost Dutch-shaped roof. An alley ran beside it, black as pitch. Raucous laughter drifted from the building.

“I’ll go in and check for Mr. Atherton, say I has a verbal message,” Sam said. “To be safe.”

“I could do that. Don’t I look manly enough?” She tried to tease, but disliked being marked as the weaker of the team.

“Aye. Good enough, but I’ll pass easier.” He grinned. “Then we’ll know the layout of the place. Your aunt warned that a porter greets everyone who enters.”

“I’ll wait at the alley entrance, but don’t tarry long. Bring him out to me, that’s what I need.” She slipped into the cooler shadows. Was James spying for the loyalists, or colluding with the rebels? If he was with the revolutionaries, she must stop him—in some way. What was the atmosphere in this, as her aunt informed them, largest tavern in Philadelphia? She risked much just being here.

Rowena tugged her hat low and pressed her back against the brick wall near a shuttered window. A cat ran past her. Rats scratched in debris. She wrinkled her nose at the stench of urine. More noise and moving about came from the building. Music also sounded: a lively fiddle. A drunk sang off-key.

Heavier noises from behind her. Footfalls? Nape prickled, she snatched out her muff pistol and whipped around about to release the trigger.

The scent of pine rose up; a harsh breath, almost a wolf-like snarl. Her fingers clenched around the small stock, Rowena pointed her weapon at the murky presence looming over her.

“Have a care, bachgen.” The Welsh accent pierced through Rowena. The dark stranger! He bent closer in the Indian Queen’s alley. “Ye might be the same boy as before. ’Tis dim, and I’d like for once to see ye in the light. Now, I warn ye, put down that gun.”

Diane lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty dachshund. 

50% off Sale at Smashwords! Fiction of all Genres, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

 

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An Excerpt from my new release, Napoleon's Elysium, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

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Amelie is caught singing in her garden at St. Helena, a ruse to attract Napoleon's interest. She's shocked when it works. Her father drags her into the house to confront the emperor.

Light-headed, Amélie sucked in her breath and managed a smile. “How do you do, Your Majesty.”

She realized too late the emperor was supposed to speak first. Aware she should curtsy, her mind went blank, leaving her at a loss as to which foot went where. She dipped her head.

“Mademoiselle, the little gardener. Is that you I heard singing so spiritedly out in the courtyard?”

“You did listen? Oh, I’m sorry if I disturbed you, Your Majesty.” She grinned wider and didn’t glance at her father who stood rigid near the door.

“No, no, you misunderstand. You haven’t disturbed me.” Napoleon laughed softly. “I find your voice very interesting. Have you had formal training?”

A rush of awe heated her from the inside out at this praise from the one man their entire world revolved around. Her knees trembled. “Very informal training, Sire, and self-study recently...from the books I borrowed from...I—”

“You learned to sing like that from books?” His sweet smile and flashing blue-gray eyes illuminated his pallid features.

“No I...but I do love to read. You learn so many different things. It opens up the world...” She broke off, ashamed of her babbling, twisting the ribbon under her chin with nervous fingers.

“Quite right, Mademoiselle. Would you mind singing that song again for me, now?”

She blinked at him. “Of course...I wouldn’t mind, Sire.” The idea of singing directly in front of the emperor with her limited knowledge of music made her toes curl in her muddy shoes. A voice in the wind might not sound so melodious in the confines of a house.

“Tres bien. Come into the reception hall. It has the most space.” Napoleon strode from the room.

Passing her father, she barely looked at him as she followed the emperor through the house to the front. The green reception salon was Longwood’s largest chamber. A mahogany billiard table the British had brought up in the first months of their residence took up a fifth of the space. An old piano stood in the far corner. Two lumpy sofas and several chairs slumped against the walls. Two globes, one of the Heavens, one of Earth, flanked the door from the drawing room.

Amélie stood in the realm she’d been eager to explore. The wind rattled the window panes as she felt her nerves rattling beneath her skin.

She hid her dirty hands behind her back and waited for some signal to begin. Napoleon sat and nodded his head.

Amélie anxiously cleared her throat and started to sing. Tentative at first, her voice sputtered and crackled as she grappled for control. Now gathering momentum, she hoped her singing exuded a rich tone. She closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breath, hitting the high drawn-out notes and concentrating on doing her utmost—fearful of making a mistake.

When done, her body quivered at the exertion. She took another slow inhale before meeting the emperor’s gaze.

Diane lives in western Pennsylvania with her husband and one naughty puppy.

A new release, "Napoleon's Elysium, Desire and Betrayal on St. Helena", by Diane Scott Lewis

 

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I worked over ten years on this novel, in between writing another novel, and starting a third. I kept revising, honing it down to an acceptable word count. I had to take out actual historical personages I wanted to keep, and some of the fictional, which was no great loss. I published it in 2011 under the title Elysium, but this is a totally revamped version thanks to the editorial help of Joanne Renaud, who also painted the beautiful front cover. The cover design is by Karen Ronan.

I hope you enjoy this restructured work.

In 1815, after the battle of Waterloo, Napoleon Bonaparte is exiled to Saint Helena. On this remote, volcanic island, Amélie Perrault, the daughter of Napoleon’s head chef, is fascinated with the fallen French Emperor. She’s secretly writing an erotic romance novel, gleaning the finer details from books.
When her beautiful singing voice catches Napoleon’s attention, she is drawn into his clash with their British jailers, court intrigues, and a burgeoning sexual attraction. She’s eager to experience the erotica she writes about.
Napoleon is soured on love, yet this young woman’s devotion tugs at his heart. After political maneuvers fail to release him, he desires freedom no matter the risk—but he regrets deserting the only woman who loves him for himself.
Amélie suspects someone in their entourage is poisoning the emperor. Will she uncover the culprit in time and join in Napoleon’s last great battle plan, a dangerous escape?

Check out a new site for readers, by Diane Scott Lewis

  Her Vanquished Land

Long and Short Reviews:
A well-written story, produced by an author who knows the era. Details of espionage and intrigue keep those pages turning. This is an exciting historical novel well worth the read.

I've recently joined a new site in its infancy, where authors recommend books under a certain heading, along with one of their books. Mine is Courageous Women in Authentic Historical Settings.

There are a plethora of interesting books on this site. Please pop in and check them out. And give Shepherd.com a boost. They are working hard to promote authors. 

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Excellent Review by Terry Newman VINE VOICE, by Diane Scott Lewis

 

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Prepare to fall in love with To Entice a Spy

Intrigue. Espionage. Romance.
If you love these elements in an historical novel, then you’ll fall in love with to Entice a Spy by Diane Scott Lewis. Widowed Countess Eseld Trehearne has returned to England following an extended stay in France during the tumultuous French Revolution. She’s determined to avenge the death of her female companion.
Eseld finds herself deep in the world of espionage when she agrees to root out a French rebel spy. A woman with a mind of her own, she doesn’t heed the pleading of her childhood love, and now widower, Baron Robert Penhale, to leave the spying to the men. Eseld doesn’t realize that he’s working in an official capacity to protect England from French terrorists.
Her actions not only put her own life at risk, but also that of her 14-year-old daughter.
Within all this, a romance between her and Robert blossoms.

Lewis deftly transports the reader to another era, highlighting both its pageantry and perils filled with well-developed characters who come to life on the page. You’ll especially love Eseld’s precocious daughter, Clorenda, who’s kindness to and love of animals deserves a special place in your hearts.
A remarkable story with twists and turns, To Entice a Spy will keep you turning the page. Five Stars

by Terry Newman, Vince Voice