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About the author:
H.H. Huggins lives a life of straight-laced repression and poverty. Having heard that erotica sells well she whipped out her quill so fast the edges caught fire. Watching it burn she thought, mercy, has anyone ever…? When not writing our hero enjoys reading, growing vines in lines, and defenestration.
What inspired you to write your book?
I have a passion for costume drama/comedy and I finally just had to write it!
Here is a short sample from the book:
The beauty of the silver stars and the bright moon, the silence, struck him. The wind rippled through the leaves in the trees. A single red leaf was torn away from a maple tree and Joe watched it fall to the ground. And was that the barest chill in the air? Yes, it was. Autumn was coming and winter right behind. He had so much he needed to do before the winds blew but spending winter shut up in the newfound tranquility of the cottage was going to be bliss. He was going to enjoy the calm and quiet that was even more valuable because he knew he could keep it. His home, his serenity, all his.
He blew out the lamp and closed his eyes in the moonlight, tired to the bone. The scars on his back began to throb. They were deep and sometimes they pained him. He unhurriedly unbuttoned his waistcoat, pulled it off, and slid his braces down from his shoulders. He took off his shirt and the cool air swept over his skin. Oh, that was delightful. He tossed shirt and waistcoat onto the rocking chair and pulled the leather band from his hair. It fell around his face in loose, dark curls and he ran his fingers through it. Was there any cake left?
“Ah,” someone said and he startled, whirling around.
“Miss Brown! Great heavens, I thought you’d gone home.” The moonlight made her hair look white in the dark and Joe almost closed his eyes from the sheer beauty of her. Then he looked down at himself and reached for his shirt. “I beg your pardon.”