💋 Mills and Swoon™ Audiobooks 💋

 Blue Eyes and Beating Hearts. A Mills & Swoon Modern Short. In the polished glass corridors of London’s trendier office districts, there exists a species of woman who has learned to walk quickly. Quickly past coffee queues, cyclists, and, most efficiently of all, quickly past inconvenient human realities wherever her Manowla heels clicked on London's sidewalks. Charlotte Briggs was one of these women. At thirty-five she possessed excellent hair, excellent shoes, and an excellent job in public relations—an industry that specialised in polishing other people’s reputations while quietly eroding one’s own soul. Every morning she stepped out of the tube station, checked her phone, and moved with professional determination toward the gleaming lobby of the agency where she worked. The tall black glass like a judgement on those that could not enter. "Big Issue, madam." Charlotte as usual declined not really sure what the Big Issue was exactly but well aware that sellers were...

  The Viscount Who Misplaced His Reputation A Mills & Swoon Short   In the agreeable scandal factories of Georgian London, reputations were delicate objects—rather like porcelain teacups. One careless moment and they shattered upon the ground, echoing through the chattering classes the moment a delicious rumour appeared. Lord Alistair Hawthorne, Viscount Bellmere, had misplaced his entirely. This was not, to be clear, an accident. The trouble began on a Tuesday, which is a particularly dangerous day for respectable men. Sundays encourage virtue, Mondays encourage work, but by Tuesday mischief begins creeping in through the hidden door of fresh hopes.     On this particular Tuesday, the viscount was discovered emerging from the conservatory at Lady Pembroke’s garden party with Miss Eliza Fairleigh. Miss Fairleigh was not his fiancée. Miss Fairleigh was not even particularly known to him until approximately twenty minutes earlier. She was, however...

Penelope Fairlie had never faltered. 'Faltering is for amateurs and the mentally ill', she would say.  At fifty-two, she was the embodiment of composure. That rare breed of Englishwoman who moved through life as if time itself obeyed her schedule. She was a beacon of virtue and as disappointing as a soggy digestive, though no one would ever tell her due to her ability to petrify anyone within her orbit, even other people's dogs in Hyde Park. She lived in a tall, ordered house in Belgravia with her husband, Charles, a respected tax barrister, and their Pomeranian, Bertie, whose coiffure was definitely worse than his bark, styled by an expensive personal dog groomer from Hampstead. There were no children, a fate that had become a new normal many years before. If one dared to asked Judge Penelope Fairlie when she last felt the surge of a carnal wave, she would probably tell you it was when she saw Julio Iglesias in concert for her twenty-first birthday Charles Fairlie was a ...