Introducing… Hannah Fielding

Portrait of Hannah Fielding and photos of where she writes.

Hannah Fielding is an incurable romantic. The seeds for her writing career were sown in early childhood, spent in Egypt, when she came to an agreement with her governess Zula: for each fairy story Zula told, Hannah would invent and relate one of her own. Years later – following a degree in French literature, several years of travelling in Europe, falling in love with an Englishman, the arrival of two beautiful children and a career in property development – Hannah decided after so many years of yearning to write that the time was now. Today, she lives the dream: writing full time at her homes in Kent, England, and the South of France, where she dreams up romances overlooking breath-taking views of the Mediterranean.
To date, Hannah has published four passionate, evocative novels: Burning Embers, a ‘romance like Hollywood used to make’, set in Kenya; the award-winning Echoes of Love, ‘an epic love story that is beautifully told’, set in Italy; and books 1 and 2 of the Andalusian Nights trilogy, set in sultry Spain, entitled Indiscretion and Masquerade. She is currently working on her fifth book, Legacy, which will publish this spring.

A glimpse of Masquerade

The loud noise of shrill klaxons and roaring motors brought them down to earth again with a bang, their breathing fast and uneven as they drew back from each other in alarm. Leandro looked at Luz enquiringly, still exhaling heavily.

‘Oh, no,’ she protested, her hand to her mouth, ‘it must be one o’clock. The guests will be leaving. You must go, Leandro! I have to get back to the hacienda before I’m missed.’

A faint smile crossed his handsome face as his eyes stroked her mouth but it was edged with frustration. ‘Pity, querida. We were getting on so well.’

‘Will I see you again?’ A shadow darkened her eyes. Why was he suddenly looking so desolate? ‘Where can I find you? Where can we meet?’ she asked desperately. Luz surprised herself, realizing only too well how forward she must sound and how far she had wanted – and still wanted – to go with this man who had so bewitched her.

Leandro’s eyes slid away as he stood up, a strange figure, sombre as his own shadow. Then he looked back at her with an intense, absorbing stare that held her in its spell.

‘I am forgetting myself, querida.’ He pulled the scarf back over his face so only the glimmer of his green eyes was visible once more. ‘Flowers in the darkness of night have an intoxicating scent,’ he murmured. ‘Are you sure that in the cold light of day you won’t turn away from it?’ But he didn’t wait for a reply. He looked her over with hooded eyes, bowed and then was gone, sucked up by the black hole of the night.

As his shadow disappeared behind the trees Luz blinked, disorientated. She sat for a moment, looking after him uneasily, biting her lower lip. Then she turned her attention back to the lake. The evening had ended a little too abruptly and she had the vague impression that Leandro’s mood had darkened. Had he been hurt by the fact that she had asked him to go? His parting words had undertones of bitterness, somehow intimating that Luz might be one of those society belles who got a kick out of flirting with gypsies. How wrong he was; she had lost her heart to him, she knew that now. Whenever he was there, everything else was eclipsed. She was twenty-four and had never fallen in love. If he wanted, she would follow him anywhere.

She shivered. The air had turned cold and a gentle wind sighed through the trees, penetrating her flimsy garments. She started back to the hacienda, a little heavy-hearted.

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