Writing a Different Kind of Regency

Hero of My Heart by Megan Frampton
Hero of My Heart by Megan Frampton

In about a month, my Regency-set historical, Hero of My Heart, will be available for your e-reader of choice. Meanwhile, I’ve just finished the revision of the first draft of What Not to Bare, which is due to my editor next Friday (yay for making a deadline!).

Hero of My Heart is an angsty book, filled with Life-Altering Decisions. What Not to Bare‘s biggest decision is what horrible outfit the heroine will choose to put on–and how the hero will manage to get it off her.

The two books are completely different in tone, and so writing WNTB was refreshing after dealing with the sturm und drang of HoMH. I’m including the description of the–of course!–stunningly gorgeous hero from WNTB:

He was even more stunning the closer he got. From far away, of course she’d noticed his commanding presence and brooding good looks; he’d walked into the room like he owned it, his height and dark hair making him stand out from the shorter, lighter-haired men. Which were all of them. He was the darkest and tallest. And definitely the handsomest.

Up close, she could see his dark eyes, which she’d assumed were brown, were deep blue, like a lake under a full moon. His hair was so dark brown as to be almost black. And his mouth, dear lord, his mouth was sinful to look at, with full lips curled into a knowing smile, which of course meant Charlotte couldn’t look away.

And he was speaking now, which meant she had to stare at his mouth, didn’t it? “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Charlotte. Perhaps you would save me a dance for later this evening?” His voice was low and husky, as though he’d recently recovered from a cough.

Charlotte wanted to giggle at the thought of offering him a poultice for his throat. “Yes, of course, my lord. I would be honored.” She stood silent, feeling as awkward as she ever had. What did a young lady say to such an impossibly handsome man: Goodness, you are lovely. Perhaps you would care to undress so I might compare you against all those statues my mother never wants me to see?

She felt her cheeks flush up a bright red; unlike Emma, Charlotte didn’t get a delicate lady-like blush, but instead looked as though she’d been sticking her face directly into a blazing fireplace.

And next up, I have an entirely different piece of writing, the potential second book to follow my contemporary women’s fiction title, Vanity Fare. Vive la difference (in writing!)


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