BLURB FOR CRASHING THROUGH TIME:
More than hearts can be broken when you crash through time.
Corrine MacGowan survives a plane crash only to fall down a hole in time. In 1868 Cornwall she faces the ultimate decision: Let the man she loves die, or save him and change history forever.
“Damn and blast.”
The curse brought her attention to a young man lying on the ground to her left. He lay flat on his back, his face screwed into a furious frown. If not for that, he would’ve been pretty hot. Dark brown wavy hair, a ruddy complexion, and very full, sexy lips sent a little thrill through her. A typical Englishman, he even had those odd mutton-chop sideburns like Colin Firth in Pride and Prejudice. Were those back in fashion over here? She didn’t remember seeing anyone else wearing them.
“I say, have you seen my hat?”
God, he had a devastating English accent. She could listen to an Englishman talk all day long. She sighed with sheer joy.
“I beg your pardon, miss, but did you see where my hat has gotten to?” He sat up, twisting this way and that, searching for it.
“Hat?” Didn’t he mean helmet? No one rode without one these days. Still, she looked around for the black velvet helmet she remembered from her senior year P.E. class.
He jerked his head toward her. “You’re American?”
“Yes.” He got that from one word? Must’ve been her southern drawl. She sat up straighter. “I’m from Virginia.”
“Forgive me. Deuced awkward to make an introduction from the ground.” He attempted to stand, and grunted in pain as he put weight on his left foot. “Oh, damn. I beg your pardon. That hurts abominably.” He hopped about, gingerly trying to step on his foot and failing.
Corrine shot to her feet and reached out to steady him. “Here, let me help.” Grabbing him around the waist, she then managed to slide his arm over her shoulders and looked for a rock or stump for him to sit on. Even the stupid well would’ve been welcome right about now.
She glanced up at him to find his eyes wide, his frown returned. He must’ve been angry with her for startling his horse. “I’m sorry I spooked your horse, but I’ve had a horrible day so far. Did you see the plane crash? I was on that. Is there somewhere you could sit down?” They’d been turning in circles as Corrine scoured the field for a place to sit him down.
He nodded across the field. “There’s a stile over there and down the field a bit.”
“Good.” She struck out across the deceivingly smooth expanse.
“Wait! My hat.”
“Oh. Right.” Corrine swung them back around toward the woods. “There, I see it. Hold on.” She disentangled herself from him and ran to a thick clump of bushes near the edge of the forest. A tall black hat lay propped on its side almost underneath the nearest shrub. She grabbed it and stopped. Not a normal riding hat. More like a top hat, actually, made of exquisite black silk, like caviar for the fingers. Very peculiar choice for riding.
Turning back to him, she stopped, struck by his appearance. He wore a formal dark blue cutaway coat, white pleated shirt and...was that a cravat tied around his neck? She’d seen enough portraits during her thesis research to recognize one. His gray trousers and over-the-knee boots also screamed nineteenth century. Oh, crap.
“I am so sorry, Mr....er, ah, I’m sorry we haven’t been introduced.”
“Ian Hunterly, at your service.” He shifted his weight and winced.
“Ian Hunterly? How funny.” Now that was a coincidence. “Anyway, I just realized that I must’ve interrupted your shoot. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, still looking puzzled. “We weren’t shooting today, merely out for a ride. Why is my name funny?” He certainly didn’t look amused.
“It’s just that you have the same name as Sir Robert Graysill’s nephew.” Her thesis topic and his nephew had become like family to her during the year of research. And now here she’d met an Englishman with the same name, although perhaps the name was quite common over here.
He smiled for the first time, and her heart missed a beat. The smile transformed his face from merely handsome to devastatingly sexy, as those full lips turned up the corners of his generous mouth and his eyes lit with an inner warmth they hadn’t shown before.
“That’s because I am Sir Robert’s nephew.”
Jenna Jaxon is a multi-published author of historical and contemporary romance. She has been reading and writing historical romance since she was a teenager. A romantic herself, she has always loved a dark side to the genre, a twist, suspense, a surprise. She tries to incorporate all of these elements into her own stories. She lives in Virginia with her family and a small menagerie of pets. When not reading or writing, she indulges her passion for the theatre, working with local theatres as a director. She often feels she is directing her characters on their own private stage.
Jenna is a PAN member of Romance Writers of America as well as President of Chesapeake Romance Writers, her local chapter of RWA. Her debut novel, Only Scandal Will Do, is the first in her House of Pleasure series, set in Georgian London. Only Marriage Will Do, the second book in the series, released June 9, 2015 from Kensington. Her medieval serial novel, Time Enough to Love: Betrothal, Betrayal, and Beleaguered, is a Romeo & Juliet-esque tale, set at the time of the Black Death. The companion short story, Beloveds, released in early June 2015. And her time travel novella, Crashing Through Time, released in mid- June as part of a boxed set about seven plane crashes that lead to love called Crashing Into Love.
She has equated her writing to an addiction to chocolate because once she starts she just can’t stop.
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