Tudor historian Avery Franklin is horrified when his dying father leaves him a most unusual inheritance: Anne Boleyn. Yes, that Anne Boleyn, beheaded queen of Henry VIII. She is a time traveler and is struggling to adjust to the modern world.
Avery tells himself that he has no time for Anne, but then he finds out a secret about himself that leads him to take Anne in. They try to develop a tentative friendship despite fighting their attraction to each other. Can they figure out their lives together, especially when time might be running out for Anne?
Targeted Audience: romance and sci fi fans
Kelly Stuart has been writing since she was a wee lass. Her B.A. is in English writing, her M.S. in deaf education. She enjoys writing about “gray” issues.
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I love history and the Tudors. After reading several books on them, I knew I had to write something about one of the Tudors.
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Sample from Book:
Anne lay in bed and watched the clock as the red numbers slid from 11:59 to midnight. She replayed the way Avery’s blue-green eyes communicated with her. In that primitive instant, he looked at Anne like Henry had. Before he found out she could not bear a son. Anne had given Avery something, exposed her soul for a stupid, impulsive moment.
Avery Franklin. Anne wanted to know more about him. She perceived that Avery saw through her, through the surface of Anne Boleyn, and saw her as a person. For she was not Anne Boleyn anymore; she was a woman held prisoner in a so-called enlightened time. She was the victim of an abduction, the victim of a greedy man whose thirst for knowledge knew no bounds. Power corrupted. It corrupted Henry VIII—and Charles Franklin. It had corrupted Anne too. Would it corrupt Avery given enough time? Anne wondered, as she had countless times, why she did not tell Charles and Benjamin what they wanted to hear. Why she did not cooperate and divulge the secrets of her history and the secrets of Henry VIII. If she did, she might gain some measure of freedom. Lure her captors in with so-called trust.
She was stubborn, that was what she was. Stubborn and prideful, and her own life, her own secrets, were all she had to cling onto.
Anne slipped her right hand between her legs. She pictured Avery Franklin. The eyes, the watchful, hungry, ravenous, technological camera eyes continued to watch her, but she knew how to touch herself and remain still.
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