I’m writing again. I’ve started my novel. The novel I’ve been struggling to write for the past year. The novel that’s meant to be my glorious return to historical romance. The novel that is going to make or break me. I reread the words for a fourth time.

Charlotte Destonbury hated corsets. They hurt, they left marks on her skin and they took at least a half an hour a day to put them on and take them off.

Secluded in her sanctuary, the library of her family’s Yorkshire estate, Charlotte decided she’d had enough. She pulled at the shoulders of her emerald day gown until the muslin gathered around her lush waist—the waist that was always a drop too full to be considered delicate. She wasted no time reaching her hands behind her back, desperate to loosen the blasted strings. After enduring the deadly dull company of another suitor, forced on her by her father, she at least deserved to breathe properly.

Charlotte fell to her knees with a growl as she continued to do battle with the stays. Her mahogany hair escaped its pins, tumbling down her heart-shaped face and well past her shoulders. She had almost reached the top string when the library door suddenly creaked open. She froze as her startled gaze locked on the imposing figure now standing in the doorway.

Robert Westmond, the Earl of Stratton, stood transfixed by the untamed beauty all but rolling around on the library floor. She presented a tempting sight, wild and disheveled as she was. The top of her dress was already pulled down. It would be easy enough to join her there on the rug. His body begged him to do just that, but instead he merely stepped deeper into the library and closed the door behind him.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house?” Charlotte’s tone was as regal as a queen’s despite her savage state.

“My name is Robert. I’m here to marry you.” He watched with pleasure as shock and contempt flashed in the girl’s exquisitely telling hazel eyes.

“Like hell you are,” she seethed.

A feral smile crossed Robert’s face. This was going to be enjoyable indeed...

It’s a decent start—not perfect, but it’s something. It’s good enough that I won’t edit it all away. I have characters, the beginning of a concept, tension. I can work with this. Relief and nerves shoot through me. Maybe I can pull this off.