Passion on the Moor by Emmanuelle de Maupassant

A Gothic Mystery Romance

A woman with a secret. A man with a tortured soul. Can either escape the poisoned dominion of their past?

Passion on the moor

After more than twenty years in exile, Mallon de Wolfe—formidable, handsome, and with a shard of ice where his heart should be—is returning to Dartmoor. 

A place vast, barren and perilous. A place where secrets refuse to remain buried. 

Mallon has vowed to conquer the betrayals of his youth but faces new danger as his attraction grows for the mysterious Countess Rosseline. 

Haunted by scandal and the shame of her bloodline, the newly-widowed Countess is without scruples. She needs a husband capable of securing her status, even if it means resorting to deceit and entrapment.  

Genre: FICTION / Gothic

Secondary Genre: FICTION / Romance / Historical / Victorian

Language: English

Keywords: Gothic , Victorian, 1900s, British, Wicked heroine, Tortured Hero, Historical Romance

Word Count: 57,965

Sales info:

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At the moment, I'm growing my foreign language readership, concentrating on Italian, Spanish, German and Portuguese. My English language newsletter subscribers number over 12,000 and I have a good social media presence. 

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Sample text:

          “Hugo! I’m here.” Her voice sounded thin. 

          There was no reply but the hooves were growing louder, beating rhythmically across the turf. Whatever creature it was, the beast was snorting heavily. With numb fingers she began to untie her mount. Better to take the saddle again. She’d feel safer on horseback, though the pony was skittering, eager to get away. 

The approaching force loomed out of the mist, galloping toward her. Not white but black; a huge stallion, its eyes rolling in its head, rearing up so close that her own pony cowered in fear. She’d barely gotten her feet in the stirrups when her mount bolted. 

Terrified, there was nothing she could do but hold on tightly and pray. They weren’t racing back the way they’d come but to the west, the pony leaping rocks and splashing through small streams crossing the hillside. Still, she could see nothing, the mist being just as thick lower down as it had been at the tor. 

From behind, a deep voice called to her to stop. As if she’d do that when some demon had been conjured to pursue her! 

The ground had levelled out and the pony was slowing to a canter, its panting ragged. Still, she could hear the hooves of the demon rider. 

The pony whinnied in protest, but took to the gallop again, carrying them swiftly across the moor. Too late, she saw the sheep—perhaps ten of them, standing close together, their pale wool disguising them in the mist.

Jerking the reins, she pulled the pony’s head round. It seemed to twist in mid-air and the world began to spin. 

Book translation status:

The book is available for translation into any language except those listed below:

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Already translated. Translated by Evelyn T M Martins
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