Synopsis:
When a crippled young lord rescues a girl falling from a tree, it
reveals a secret about himself and his mother's side of the family
that could put him at the center of a war with beings he thought only
existed in fairytales.
Tristan Gareth Smyth lived his entire life stuck at home at Waverly
Park, left behind while his Grandfather makes trips to London, all
because of his blasted wheelchair.
Then an American heiress falls in his lap, literally, and he must
find a way to keep her at a distance to protect not only his secret,
but everyone around him from an assassin sent to kill him.
Expected Release
Date: April 2013.
Cover art by MarcyRachel Designs
Model Photographer:
WinterWolf Studios
This is an exciting collaboration between a Steampunk writer and a Paranormal Romance author. Together we are blending the two cultures as seamlessly as possible so that fans of both genres will love what we’ve come up with.
Excerpt –
Twelve-year-old Tristan Gareth Smyth gripped the armrests of his
wheelchair and said, “This will do. I can make it the rest of the
way on my own from here.”
His eyes trained up the landmark tree and he had that feeling again.
The vapor of a memory, maybe a dream. He always had that feeling when
he looked up at the broad branches of this particular oak. Then he
remembered who he was talking to and his face hardened.
The maid, Sarah, with her strong Scottish burr, patted him on the
shoulder. Gareth refused to look at her. He stared down at his knee
pants instead. “Are ye sure ye will be alright? I do na mind
walking with ye the rest of the way to Mr. Strong’s house.”
Gareth clenched his hands into fists. “I’ll be fine.”
“Too bad he didn’t like coming out to the manor. Remember how
green Mr. Strong got when he choked on my spice cake that day and ran
off.” She laughed but tried to cover it with a cough. “I thought
that would be the end of ’im but he worked it out with yer
grandfather to instruct ye in town. Funny, my spice didn’t bother
the rest of ye.”
She bent down in front of Gareth, attempting to make eye contact.
“There are lots of children in this section of town. Ye might try
making friends with ’em.”
Gareth turned away and clenched his jaw. Children never wanted to
make friends with him. The chair made them uncomfortable. And what
did he care anyway? He attempted to give her as stern a look as his
grandfather would. “I know the way from here, and I won’t be
late. You can go on to market, now.”
The breeze picked up and blew wisps of red hair into the woman’s
round face. She smiled. Was she making fun of him? “Oh, it’s such
a pretty day. This fresh air will do ye good, for certain.”
Gareth scowled.
She patted her hands on her knees and stood straight again. “Well
then, I’ll leave ye to it. I’ve got to run off to the baker’s.
Be sure to get to Mr. Strong’s in a timely manner. Though I think
yer old governess was doing a fine job. Not sure why ye need Mr.
Strong. But I guess it’s none of my concern.”
She was a servant, in uniform, and he was a future lord. Following
his instruction was her duty. She and her husband, Thompton had been
employed by his grandfather only six months. They might find
themselves out of work and heading back to Scotland, if she kept
voicing that sort of opinion.
No, Gareth could never really get them fired. But he’d make her
think he would. He shook his head in the same disapproving manner
he’d seen his grandfather use.
The sunlight played in the golden highlights of the woman’s ruby
hair. Although her green eyes twinkled, she continued to voice her
cutting opinion. She placed one hand on his shoulder. “It’s not
being stuck in this chair that keeps ye lonely. It’s yer surly
attitude.”
Gareth couldn’t help but let his face scrunch a little. He crossed
his arms and turned his face from her.
Her accent was thick and melodic, familiar in a way. His mother had
been Scottish though he hardly remembered her. Still, Gareth kept his
pout in place. The truth was, he didn’t know how to relate to
others. Even people who could feel at ease talking to perfect
strangers stammered or spoke quickly to him and walked away. The
wheelchair did more than keep him from playing.
She straightened the collar of his waistcoat. “Look, there’s a
little girl coming now. She looks to be about Tabitha’s age. Maybe
a wee bit older.”
He did glance then, but just under his lashes, not to give the
impression that he cared. Easier to act like he didn’t care than to
show he truly did. He refused to give anyone more reason to feel
sorry for him. No one pities an angry person.
He missed Tabitha…Tabitha Fitzgerald, Lord Gerald Smyth’s bastard
daughter. But ward was her polite title. At five years old, she was
the only person he allowed to get close. Maybe it was the way she
climbed up in his lap, never caring about the wheelchair. She didn’t
see it when she looked at him, she only saw Gareth.
He never spoke to Tabitha about who her parents really were, but she
knew. For some reason, servants believed children to be both deaf and
dumb, and gossiped openly around them. That’s how Gareth knew the
truth about his own mother. He was told she died, but he’d
overheard the maids say she had run back home to Scotland and how
they didn’t blame her. It’s also how he’d learned the truth of
his own father’s death—shot by his mistress’s jealous husband.
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