Romantic Historical Fiction Novels & Stories

“How dare you? I suppose you think it would be fun, teaching a virgin what to do? Your surfy mates would just love it. I can see you now, telling them all about the little English, sorry, Pommy Virgin, you screwed. Tight-assed little spinster, but the great Brett Matthews won her over!’ Her eyes filled with tears and she turned to look away. Angrily, Brett leapt off his seat and grabbed her hands roughly. His eyes flashed cold and hard as steel. He turned her to face him and she felt suddenly terrified of the expression she saw on his face. ‘How dare you, you stupid woman! Don’t you recognize the truth when it stares you im the face? You’re hanging on to some soap opera idea of romance. You

A sharp bell rang out, echoing through the night. A shrill voice announced, "The time has come. Let the bride enter!" A black carriage, lavishly decorated yet unsettling, rolled in slowly. The door opened, and a bride in a blood-stained wedding dress stepped out gracefully. "Where's my groom?" George hurried over, waving for the puppets to drag me away. He pointed at the players seated at a long table. "My lady, please take a look. Which one do you favor?" The bride lifted her veil. Blood slid down her face like melting wax. Her crimson eyes swept across the crowd. "I'm not satisfied with any of them. Not a single one looks pleasing."

she chirped, clicking play. As the story unfolded, with its sweeping landscapes and tense romantic dialogue, she felt herself being drawn in. Then came the first intimate scene. It was artfully shot, but raw and passionate. A slow, warm flush began to spread through her body, a familiar ache of arousal coiling deep in her belly.

Then she added, “What do you mean by bridge the gap?” I moved closer, she tensed. I gave a sly grin, and gave her a once over. I removed my cloak, “While I do enjoy the view, you do not strike me as an immodest witch.” She looked down at herself and a deep red rose to her cheeks as she tried to pull her dress to cover her breast. I was at her side, within mere moments wrapping my cloak around her, because of my broad shoulders, it fit her just snuggly. Honestly, I rather liked her in my cloak, as if she belonged to me. That thought sent more tension down below.

she said with a wink, settling beside me on the couch and pulling a fuzzy blanket over us both. She queued up the movie on her TV, the opening credits filling the room with upbeat music. As the story unfolded lighthearted banter, stolen glances, the kind of sweet romance that made your heart flutter—I tried to lose myself in it. Mira laughed at the jokes, nudging me with her elbow, but I could only manage faint smiles. My mind wandered back to Zayden, to the way his touch had once felt like safety, now tainted by blood.

It’s better for both of us that I went the less drastic route. The third guy who approaches is a whole other kind of animal. He kind of takes my breath away, actually. Wowzies. He’s tall, muscular, and dressed like he’s just walked off the page of a Paco Rabanne magazine ad. When he smiles, my panties send a direct signal to my brain: Take me off. Now. Holy lady- boner. Vampire, twelve o’clock. Maybe they’re real. Weeee!

The young woman sitting by me stopped her game and watched me rant in astonishment. When I ran out of angry words, she clapped her hands in succession, and it echoed in the silence. "Well said, Princess, but I think someone lied to you, just like they lied to some of them over there," she said, pointing to a point in the room's corner. "Over there in the blue dress is Princess Kit of the Blue Brook Pack. She was given away as an alliance gift to the Lycan King and found herself as a slave here the very next day. Following her is Princess Yvette from the distant pack region of the werecats. She was told that she was to be matched with the Lycan Prince. She has not gotten over the deceit that

Back then, he had used this trick to win over her heart too. Looking back, she finally realized how stupid she was before. A man’s promise was only a lie. All the romantic gestures were traps to bedazzle the woman’s heart. The corners of her lips twitched into a sardonic smile as she held the bouquet of flowers. Matthew thought success was near upon seeing her smile. Immediately, he did as he had rehearsed before and led her toward the hall that was covered with fresh flowers. He readjusted his emotions, knelt one knee, and held her hands. “Christina, I like you. Be my girlfriend.”

he asked. “I can’t have you taking it off premises so yes,” she replied. “I know you’re a quick reader.” Damien Black was a good author. He could tell from the first page. The setting wasn’t unique, but he could tell the author was setting up something that hadn’t been done before. The story was set in at a British university in the 1960s and depicted a forbidden romance between a professor and student. The first smut scene he came across was tastefully done.

He would have, right? I shook my head again and concentrated on the book placed on my lap. It was one of the British, historical romance fictions set during the World War Two. I had randomly picked it up at the bookstore and somehow felt myself drawn towards it. Sappy novel with mopey dialogues and dragged out bits, it still provided me with much needed solace.