Last night my husband and I
celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary. Over dinner we discussed
our unusual romance which got me wondering how much of my own experience I pour into my books.
I've been lucky, though life's not always been plain sailing. (Lots of stories for another time, there!) And of course, a romance demands a HEA.
But back to Eivind's and my story.
We’d been in each other’s
company only two weeks when I accepted Eivind’s marriage proposal. I’d met him eight
months previously around a camp fire in Botswana the night before I was due to
fly home to my boyfriend of eight years who, as it turned out, had just met
someone else.
My sister was due to fly to
Botswana to follow my footsteps and run a safari lodge, also, so I thought I’d write
and ask this nice Norwegian bush pilot to whom I’d chatted for four hours, if
he’d meet her at the airport.
So began eight months of
letter writing. The old fashioned snail-mail variety. It was in the early 90s
and we had no other means of correspondence as he lived in a thatched cottage
in a mopane forest with no telephone about 14km out of town. Only the offices in Maun, the frontier
town we called The Dirty, Domestic Donkey Den had telephones and, at that
stage, fax machines.
In our letters – eight to
18 pages of laborious long-hand – we talked about our lives and our values and
what we did, not knowing if the other had a partner, but just getting to know
one another.
Even when Eivind flew into Adelaide
airport (South Australia) on his first holiday visit, we weren’t sure about each other’s romantic
status though I had an inkling he’d come to visit me for more than just a few
kangaroo sightings.
Well, last night over crispy
fried prawns in the Thai restaurant we went to Eivind recalled with some
amusement how I’d corralled my great friend, Tim, to act as chaperone during
our visit to our family’s weekend property in the Clare Valley where we were to
stay for two nights.
On the second day I told Tim
he was no longer needed, and within ten days Eivind and I were organising our
wedding. It’s been the happiest 18 years I can imagine and I think that getting
to know one another through correspondence was the key in our case.
So now about my Regency
Historical Romance – A Little Deception – which was nominated Favourite
Historical of 2011 by ARRA (Australian Romance Readers Association) and features a couple who are destined for just such a
long and happy marriage. That is, once the interfering family members are dealt
with.
Here’s the blurb and below
is an extract:
A one-night charade to save
the family sugar plantation wins loyal and determined Rose Chesterfield more
than she bargained for – marriage to the deliciously notorious rake, Viscount
Rampton.
"A love match!"
proclaims London's catch of the season who happily admits he has been hoist on
his own petard.
But when his new wife is
implicated in the theft of several diamond necklaces he wonders if her
deception goes beyond trapping him into marriage. Is she the innocent she
claims, or a scheming fortune hunter with a penchant for money, mischief and
men?
Below is a scene featuring my arch villainess. Oooh, but I just love a
good villainess!
‘YOU HAVE THE money?’ Helena’s breath felt
like the caress of a feather against Oswald’s cheek as she leaned into him. A
waltz was playing and couples milled nearby but Helena and Oswald were hidden
from view in a small curtained alcove with a large, obtrusive pot plant placed
near its entrance.
In the dim light, the blush of her anticipation descended to her
décolletage, swallowed up by a froth of lace. He’d once been fool enough to
mistake the signs for sexual desire.
Just as he had thought to do her bidding only once.
But Helena was only interested in the fruit of his labour – not the fruit
of his loins.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, taking advantage of their seclusion to caress her
breast. Let her think he wasn’t on to her game, he thought, and take his
rewards while he could.
‘Where is it?
Did she not have the finesse to at least pretend? Or was he that
repulsive to her?
‘I have it,’ he murmured reassuringly, dropping a line of kisses down
her neck.
She pushed him away, irritated. ‘You can’t imagine I’d reward you before
you prove you’ve discharged my request?’
The flint he recognized in her eye sent his senses into complete revolt.
What was he? An errand boy? One so beneath contempt that she couldn’t bear that
he should even touch her? When the terms of their bargain went so far beyond
that?
With an effort he reined in his uncertain temper. It would serve no
purpose to draw attention to themselves. But as he faced her down he realized
that Helena had as much intention of honouring their agreement as she did of
returning to the West Indies with her husband.
He caught her to him, roughly covering her mouth with his.
‘You’re hurting me!’
He enjoyed the way she wriggled against him, furious yet afraid to
scream. Her outrage as he ran his hands all over her, then pushed against her,
making her all too aware of his arousal, was almost worth it.
‘Enjoying yourself, Helena?’ he panted. ‘You like it rough? You
certainly aren’t afraid to dish it out, are you?’ His hands, filled with bank
notes, thrust into her bodice.
‘There’s your money,’ he grunted.
‘Get away from me!’ she hissed, finally freeing herself. Swinging back
after she’d feverishly counted the bills, she burst out, ‘That’s not nearly the
agreed sum.’
‘And this is the closest I’ve got to being rewarded.’ His eyes blazed.
‘Do you take me for a fool, Helena?’
‘You’ll be rewarded when you’ve fulfilled the terms of our agreement—’
‘Three times I have thieved for you. Granted, it was a lark the first
time and the thought of my just reward creamed the deal. But,’ he gripped her
shoulder and shook her, ‘do you really imagine I’ll be satisfied with
smouldering looks and empty promises?’
‘You’ll get your rewards when—’
‘When what? I’ve set you up like the bloody Queen of Sheba … only then
you’ll be far too good for me!’
‘I just need—’
She was too stupid to see the signs. All she cared about was the money.
Bio
After throwing
in her secure job on South Australia’s metropolitan daily The Advertiser to
manage a luxury safari lodge in the Okavango Delta, in Botswana, Beverley
discovered a new world of romance and adventure in a thatched cottage in the
middle of a mopane forest with the handsome Norwegian bush pilot she met around
a camp fire.
Eighteen years later, after exploring the world in the
back of Cessna 404s and CASA 212s as an airborne geophysical survey operator
during low-level sorties over the French Guyanese jungle and Greenland's ice
cap, Beverley is back in Australia living a more conventional life with her
husband and two daughters in a pretty country town an hour north of Melbourne.
She writes Regency Historical Intrigue as Beverley Eikli and erotic historicals
as Beverley Oakley.
Buy A Little Deception here: http://www.amazon.com/A-Little-Deception-ebook/dp/B009HKKCKM/ref=tmm_kin_title_0
Twitter: https://twitter.com/BeverleyOakley
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2 comments:
What a romantic story, Beverly! Thanks for sharing it. And I love the cover A Little Deception.
Thanks, Amber! Yes, my husband is very romantic - and he actually helped me with my cover. While I had the rights to my original book (which I rewrote) revert to me, I didn't have the rights to the art work.
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