For fans of Broken Country and The Heir Apparent, the first book in Callie Coles’ Spinning Silks trilogy—a sweeping love story about a woman trapped by a dangerous past, and the man who may offer a chance at hope and healing, in the lush Suffolk countryside.
Intrigued? Read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Tangled Webs by Callie Coles, which releases on August 4th 2026.
To the outside world, Sage Deverill has it all. In truth, her marriage is a gilded cage.
When Sage flees from her marriage at a crumbling Panamanian estate, she takes her young son to the only place that has ever felt like home: her grandparents’ estate in Newmarket, the beating heart of the racing world in the British countryside. Surrounded by ivy-clad walls, the kindness of her family and the thunder of hooves on the heath, Sage reconnects with the place, people and creatures she loves most.
Riding beneath the wide Suffolk skies, Sage encounters Rafe Dunbarton—an ambitious, intriguing racehorse trainer with a gentle soul. What begins as friendship soon becomes an irresistible pull between two people who never expected to find each other.
But just as Sage rediscovers her freedom, her past returns in a tangle of destruction and lies and she is forced to decide how much she is willing to risk for her future…
EXCERPT
Chapter One
Islas Del Penta, Panama, New Year’s Day
Sage woke early after a long night of broken sleep. The rising sun’s rays, already strong, were glaring through the dilapidated wooden shutters of her bedroom window. Not yet ready to face the world, she kept her eyes tightly closed. Her dry throat constricted as she tried to swallow. Lifting a hand to her face, she gingerly traced the swelling around her left eye. She suspected that the delicate bone beneath the eyebrow was broken and knew that this time, she would leave.
The sound of gentle breathing reminded Sage she was not alone in the bed. Carefully so as not to wake him, she pulled the solid, comforting warmth of her three-year-old son towards her and encircled him gently with her arms. The tempo of Hal’s rhythmic, sweet breaths soothed her jangled nerves sufficiently for her to finally open her eyes. She turned onto her back and gently moved away from the sleeping child. She found that she was fighting to keep her breathing even, strung out and taut in every frightened sinew. Today was going to be fraught with complications. Her husband and his mother would make her escape from the island as difficult as possible. She had guessed that Santiago would not have slept in their bed last night – he rarely did any more – but she was apprehensive nevertheless and looked around the large room, which was somehow still elegant despite its shabby state. Reassured to find that she and Hal were alone, she let out another sigh into the warm and heavy air; one of relief this time, which she had not realized she had been holding in.
Young women all over the world had mourned when American playboy racing driver and renowned bachelor Santiago Deverill had married her. She knew that even now, people still envied her. They saw the nineteenth- century plantation estate set on this Pacific island with its hundred acres surrounding the grand but crumbling colonial mansion where she was raising their child, and immediately reached the conclusion that Sage Deverill must be happy. Happiness, however, had eluded Sage for the last four years.
Hearing the muffled squawks of her mother-in-law’s African grey parrot from the confines of its cage on the veranda below the window, Sage sat up cautiously and edged her way over to the side of the bed, taking care not to wake Hal, still peacefully sleeping. She hoped, as she swung her legs off the side of the bed, that she would have a chance to compose some semblance of a plan before he woke. She pulled on an old pair of denim cut-off shorts and a faded blue linen shirt that she had been wearing the day before, then swept her thick, tangled hair off her hot neck and tied it into a hurried plait. She bent down to pick up her espadrilles with one hand before grabbing her dark glasses from the dressing table with the other.
It was dawn, a quarter past six, and the temperature already felt as if it was up in the thirties. Sage felt the stifling, humid heat closing in on her as she stepped out into the stale air of the hallway. She yearned for a sharp, white, frosty English morning. A wave of homesickness crashed over her without warning, causing her to let out an involuntary sob. She clapped a hand over her mouth as though to trap in the grief. Squaring her shoulders and sucking in a deep, steadying breath, she padded purposefully across the polished teak floorboards on bare feet.
As she passed the mirror that hung in the gloom of the ornate upstairs landing, she paused at the sight of her reflection and winced; her green, swollen eyelid was casting a purple shadow over her high cheekbone like some sort of grotesque stage make-up. Carefully, she put on the glasses and crept downstairs.
The maids had not started work yet; all the downstairs shutters were still closed and a putrid smell of stale cigarette smoke hung heavily in the semi-darkness. Sage found the front door ajar and pushed it open, stepping out onto the enclosed wooden veranda that wrapped around the huge house. The bamboo blinds had been lowered but enough of the morning light was shining through to show the scattered debris from last night’s after- party. Empty bottles were strewn across the tables and floor, and every available surface was crowded with empty glasses, overflowing ashtrays and discarded packets of cigarettes. Beneath the bright, beating sunshine, Sage could see a similar extent of wreckage surrounding the pool outside.
At the far end of the veranda, on a chaise longue, lay a supine body which Sage recognized as that of her husband. She approached cautiously, willing him not to regain consciousness, but as she got closer she heard his comatose snoring and knew that it was safe for a while at least; he would not wake easily now. One of Santiago’s arms was hanging limply to the ground, his hand still clutching a crystal tumbler filled with amber liquid. Rum always brought out the very worst in him. Sage angrily swiped away a tear, furious at herself for still caring, enraged that she still felt anything for the man who had hurt her, time and time again. It had not always been like this. She had fallen in love with his fun side – he could be sweet and amusing and would know how to lift your mood – but he was no longer remotely kind to her; his mother had seen to that. He was still undeniably the life and soul of every party. Too much party, though, Sage thought ruefully, as she noticed the remains of the lines of white powder that had been regimentally lined up on the glass tabletop.
She examined her husband a little more closely. His handsome face looked dreadful and considerably older than his twenty-eight years. His dark hair was greasy with dried sweat. Red veins threaded along puffy cheeks, under closed feline eyes, his golden, sunburnt skin looked as dry as paper, crinkling where it touched the cushion, and Sage noticed, shuddering with revulsion, that he had white discharge trickling out of one broken-veined nostril. She wondered how many girls had been there last night. It was the first time that Santiago had actually brought the party back to the house. Normally he kept his extracurricular activities at a distance, but not last night. Things had taken a turn. It still hurt horribly but knowing that she was finally going to leave managed to lessen the usual pain and somehow made it feel more distant; almost as though it were affecting someone else.
Excerpted from TANGLED WEBS by Callie Coles. Copyright © 2026 by Iggywick Ltd. Reprinted here with permission from Harper Perennial, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
