{New Historical Mystery Release} In the Howling Storm by Nicola Italia

In the Howling Storm by Nicola Italia
on October 15th, 2025
Genres: Fiction, Adult, Mystery/Suspense, Historical
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A vanished sister. A spooky village. A killer hiding in plain sight.

When Imogene York stumbles upon a long-lost letter hinting at the fate of her sister Felicity who has been missing for over a decade, it leads her to the village of Linwood. Posing as a secretary in the powerful Linwood household, Imogene begins a covert investigation into Felicity’s disappearance.

Her only confidant is Spencer St. George, the village architect with secrets of his own. As fellow outsiders, they forge a connection that transcends mere friendship. But as their bond deepens, so do the dangers surrounding them. Imogene’s search for the truth causes her to cross paths with a killer whose dark impulses are tightly interwoven with Linwood’s past.

As Imogene edges closer to uncovering what happened to her sister, she must confront a chilling truth: the monster she seeks is not be lurking in the shadows… but hiding in plain sight.

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Exclusive Excerpt from In the Howling Storm

Without thinking, Imogene blew out the lamp. She stood up slowly, knowing that if someone was coming into the cottage it wasn’t for any good reason. She pressed herself against the wall, and the next moment the door opened and closed and someone was inside with her. The room had been plunged into darkness, and Imogene’s eyes had not adjusted. She could see the outline of a tall form against the door but nothing else.

Her heart was beating in her chest as the figure moved toward her. She couldn’t reach the lantern, but she could push the rocking chair into him and run from the cottage. In the next moment, she did just that. The rocking chair was not very sturdy and it fell on its side just as she rushed past the intruder.

But suddenly she was caught by her waist and pressed into the wall, which knocked the breath from her.

“Damn it! Imogene, it’s me,” Spencer said harshly.

Imogene saw Spencer’s face in the dark and noticed he looked pale.

“Why are you here?” he asked, frowning.

“I could ask you the same,” she said tartly.

A cool wind swept into the cottage and she shivered. They stood together in the dark, neither one saying a word. She pressed at his forearms to release her and felt a wet, sticky substance. It didn’t feel like water from the rain. She lifted her hand to see the wetness was bright red. Blood! Her heart leaped.

“Spencer!” she said suddenly. “What’s happened? Is that blood? Are you bleeding?”

“I was shot. Someone mistook me for a poacher.”

“My God!” Imogene swore. “Can you make it back to the village?”

“I’ll stay here for the time being.”

Imogene looked about the room and saw the familiar rocking chair overturned. “Here.” She moved the rocking chair upright and led him to it.

She turned to the lamp to light it.

“Don’t,” he told her.

“I can’t see you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“How badly are you hurt?”

“Just nicked.”

Imogene looked him over. His hair was wet and slicked back from the rain, and the blood soiled his white shirt. She felt a little lightheaded but she stemmed it.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” he asked, sagging into the chair.

Going into the other room, she pulled up her skirts and removed her petticoat. When she rejoined him, he was watching her.

“What are you going to do with your petticoat?”

“What do you think?” She ripped it apart. “Treat your wound. It needs to be bound.”

She made several long strips of the fabric and then kneeled beside him on the floor.

“Take off your shirt and jacket,” she instructed, and her eyes met his boldly.

He peeled off his jacket, but his eyes never left hers. He tried to remove his shirt but winced. The bullet had nicked him in the bicep, which made movement difficult. She rose onto her knees between his legs and helped pull the shirt from him.

Imogene could feel the electricity in the air. She was a woman who had seen something of the world, but she had never seen a naked man. 

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked softly, and the double meaning was there.

“I took a training course in London,” she told him. “I wanted to be able to help the secretaries in the office. In case of an emergency.”

“You’re very capable, Miss York. I’ll give you that.” 

She placed the shirt on the ground next to them, the white fabric covered in blood stains. His masculine chest was muscled, and she realized she had never seen a man’s naked chest before. Even her father had always been fully dressed when out of his room. She swallowed once. The room that had been so cold now seemed warm.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, the shadows shifting inside the room.

“You’re the first naked man I’ve seen,” she admitted.

“I’m not naked.” 

But his words didn’t help. She moved to get the strips of petticoat and took his arm gently. “I’m going to bind the wound to help stop the blood flow. It might hurt when I tighten the strips.”

“Do what you need to.”

She could tell he was in pain, and the loss of blood had made him pale. He gripped the armrests on the rocking chair as she began to wrap the petticoat strips around his arm.

She tried not to concentrate on his naked chest or his handsome face so close to hers. “What happened tonight?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” he said. “I was out walking and I happened onto the Linwood Estate. Someone obviously mistook me as a poacher.”

“Why were you walking so late at night?”

His dark eyes met hers. “Why were you?” he challenged.

She moistened her lips. “No particular reason.”

“Why did you return to the cottage?”

“To get out of the rain,” she lied. “Why did you?”

“I saw the light through the window.”

“You did?”

The bandage had been wrapped around his arm several times, and she was just tightening it when a flash of lightning lit the sky outside and she jumped. Without meaning to, her hands fell against his chest.

In the next moment, he pulled her tightly to him, using his unharmed arm, and kissed her. He held her tightly at the waist, and his mouth was firm against hers. She closed her eyes and felt the kiss deepen and then pulled away from him. She stood up and turned from him.

“You’ll need to have the wound looked at,” she said briskly. “You don’t want to risk infection.”

He stood as well. He pulled his shirt and jacket on, and Imogene was struck by how he looked in the dark. Suddenly, a mask had been removed and he looked like a stranger. She didn’t know him at all. And he looked dangerous. She thought of him as a simple architect in a small village, but there seemed to be something under the surface. Something she couldn’t name. Something that frightened her.

“Why did you come to Linwood, Imogene?” he asked her suddenly.

She faced him. “You know why. I told you.”

“I know what you’ve said. I know what you’ve told everyone.”

“And you don’t believe me?”

“A sketching holiday?” he asked in disbelief.

He walked past her and then turned to look at her. 

“You should return to London, Imogene. There’s nothing for you here.”