ROMANCE: CLEAN ROMANCE: Summer Splash! (Sweet Inspirational Contemporary Romance) (New Adult Clean Fantasy Short Stories) (128 page)
Authors: Michelle Woodward
“I don’t know... but I fear they may send us back.”
“Promise that you’ll stay with me... whatever happens”
“Of course.” Edward stroked the dark waves on Isabel’s head. “I wouldn’t have come this far just to suddenly leave you.” His eyes were then drawn to a tall uniformed man who had approached him with several other officers.”
“Please follow me, Sir.”
Isabel clung onto Edward’s arm and glared at the officer. “My lover goes nowhere without me.”
“Immigrants are interviewed separately.”
“Why?”
”It’s the way we do things here. Now, we can cause a scene or we can do things in a civilized way.”
“I’m not letting him go without me.”
Edward noticed the lack of sympathy on the officer’s face. He then turned to face Isabel. “Don’t worry, Isabel. I’ll be fine.”
“No. What if they lead you away... how will I find you?”
“I will be OK.”
“Edward?”
Edward pulled himself free of Isabel. “Please. Don’t worry. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“I won’t rest until you return.”
“Neither will I.”
Isabel began to weep as Edward was led away. The pain of being forced apart from Edward in an alien environment proved overpowering as she broke into tears. A female officer remained at her side then asked, “Madame, please follow me.”
“Why?”
“There is someone who I think will be excited to see you.”
Isabel felt a deep fear inside. “Who?”
~
Edward walked into the small interview room. The blinds were drawn and the room was lit by daylight from a small desk lamp.
“Sit.”
“I’d rather stand, thank you.”
Two burly officers stood behind Edward then forced Edward by his shoulder’s to sit.
“Edward Picton, I’m arresting you on the suspicion of kidnap and attempted entry to Canada under false alias.”
“I...” Edward arms were forced behind his back as he was put in handcuffs. Suddenly the door opened and in stepped a familiar face which filled Edward with dread. “George?”
“Fine job gentleman. Can you leave us alone for a few moments? Edward and I need to be reacquainted.”
Edward watched in horror as he was left in the room alone with George. “How did you get here before us?”
“First class tickets on an ocean liner... beats the pants off the tramp steamer you sailed in on. I’m sure my voyage was a little more comfortable that yours.”
“It wasn’t exactly luxury... but, as they say, it’s the company that counts.”
“You’ve caused me lots of sleepless nights, Edward.”
“Not got a lot of sleep myself.”
George stood opposite, and then peered down at Edward. “What possessed you to think that you can steal Isabel from me?”
“I did not steal her.”
“Yes you did.”
“I did not! You lost her. She came with me willingly.
“She did not!” George slapped Edward across his face with the back of his hands. “Why would Isabel want a mere commoner like you, when she could have a gentleman of wealth, status and power?”
“She wanted love.”
“Love..?” George laughed dismissively, and then struck him a second time across the face for a second time. “Love..?”
“Ask her yourself, she’ll tell you?”
“I don’t know how, but you’ve corrupted her. Isabel loved me.”
Edward felt blood trickling from his nose. “You didn’t treat her right.”
“I treated her no different than how a woman should be treated. I asked for nothing more than what she ought to give me.”
“I did not imagine what happened in carriage. I saw with my own eyes.”
“The only thing that was wrong was you.” George clenched his fist then hit Edward across the face with so much force that he fell from the chair onto the stone floor. “All you are is a bloody peeping Tom.”
“Hitting me will solve nothing. Killing me won’t either. Do you think she’ll come back to you after all this?”
“Probably not. But as long as you don’t have her...I’ll live the rest of my life in peace.”
“You’ll never find peace.”
George kicked Edward, who yelped before curling into a protective ball as if he was a threatened hedgehog. “Look at you... just look at you. I’m going to leave you so disfigured not even your mother will recognise you.”
“She’s in heaven.”
“Good... that’s where I’m sending you.”
“Guards!”
“They’re in my pocket... or rather, Albert’s. “
“If you’re such an honourable gentleman... then how could you kill a man in cuffs? At least give me a fighting chance.”
“There’s nothing honourable about me.”
~
Albert stepped into the small interview where the sight of his daughter brought a sense of relief and a huge smile to his face. “Isabel... Oh Isabel. I’ve been so worried.”
“Not as worried as I am now.”
“What do you mean? You’re ordeal is over.” Albert tightly embraced Isabel but felt little in return from his daughter. “Daddy has come to rescue.”
“Rescue from what?”
“From...”
“From a dream..?” Isabel stepped from the embrace then frowned at Albert. “From the arms of a good man..? From true love?” She scowled at him through fiery eyes. “Which one is it, Father?”
“How come you speak with such a tongue? Just look at you, it doesn’t look like you’ve been living a dream. You look terrible and you... smell even worse.”
“You and Geor...” Isabel held her head in her hands while she cried, “I don’t even want to mention his name. He put me through hell.”
“How can you accuse him of this? We tracked you down to save you from Edward.”
“I was running from George, Father. Edward saved me. He is the gentleman to George’s monster.”
“George? A monster? How so? The poor man... he has been worried to death! Edward left him to die in a field drain.”
“All George was worried about was the truth.”
“The truth? If you mean the argument between the both of you. He told me he had got a little drunk and perhaps his tongue was loose.”
“George forced himself upon me when we were travelling to his parents. Edward saved me.”
“Ah... but still. I’m sure you can talk things through. You do love each other, after all.”
“Father? Does the fact he forced himself, not mean anything to you?”
“Men are men. Have a few whiskies and we become like rutting stags. If we’re not fighting with one another we’re mounting anything that presents itself.”
“Father..?”
“Sorry. I had a sip while waiting to see you.”
“For God’s sake.” Isabel shook her head. “I’m surrounded with drunkards.”
“I know George is a good man.”
“He is not. I never wish to see him again. Now, I demand to see Edward at once.”
The door opened and in walked George, wiping blood from his hands with a cloth. “Sorry, I’m afraid that isn’t possible.”
“What have you done to him?”
“What has he done to you? I’m sure I overheard you defending the brute. He is nothing but a lowlife scum.”
“He is of higher morals than you. I can assure you.”
George shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, he has been handed over to the police. I’m sure he’ll be among his own company once he is in jail.”
“What for?”
“Kidnap of course.”
“I went willingly.” Isabel ran for the door. “I must tell them quick.” But George blocked her path.
“Now stop it. Pull yourself together, Woman. I’ve missed you, and glad to have you back. You can at least show the same respect.”
“Respect? Respect? You lost my respect because you never showed me any. Not to mention tried to shoot Edward. Now get out of the way.”
“No. I can’t until you regain control of yourself. You’re acting like an emotional little girl.”
“Move out the way, you beast.”
Albert tried to step in between the warring pair. “Come on Isabel... stop making a scene. I’m sure you can both work it out. We’re all adults.”
“No. I demand to see Edward. At once.”
George placed a hand on each of Isabel’s shoulders. “I demand that you forget that man at once.”
“Take your filthy hands of me.”
“Isabel, please.”
“I’ll never forget Edward”
“You have no choice.”
“I’ll never live with you, never be with you. I don’t want to. As far as I’m concerned... you can rot in hell.”
Albert found the situation too distressing. “I think we all need to calm down here. There is no need for this behaviour from the both of you.” He gazed at George. “I think the wedding is off.”
“I want the ring back.”
“Isabel? Hand the ring back to George.”
“How do you think I paid for the crossing?”
George raised his arm as if to strike Isabel, “Why you ungrateful whore.”
Albert stood in the way of George, and gripped his forearm. “I’ll reimburse the cost... just to see the back of you. I mean it. Go and work for Lord Craven. You’re suited for one another. Both slimy worthless toads. Now, be gone with you.”
“Albert, Old Boy? Have you not seen how she just disrespected me?”
“I have now realised that I was wrong to accept your proposal.”
George appeared lost for words while staring at Albert. “You’ll regret those words.”
“I mean it. It’s more than clear to me that you’re both not right for each other.”
“I want to be fully compensated for the lost ring.”
“I told you already. I shall pay back each and every penny.”
“I’m glad it’s over... she’d as frigid as a penguin’s backside.” George shook his head before walking away. “Good riddance... To the both of you.”
~
Isabel barged into the interview where Edward lay like a bloodied pulp. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she fell at his side. “Oh, Edward, what has he done to you?”
“Nothing that can’t be put right.”
“The beast.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Albert peered around the door, and then winced at the sight of Edward. “I will go and find a doctor.”
Chapter 14
With the sound of wedding bells fresh in his ears, Edward took Isabel into his arms. “I think tradition calls for me to carry you over the threshold of the home.”
“Absolutely.” The gathered crowd cheered as Isabel jumped into Edward’s arms. “I’ve been waiting for his moment... to be married to a man I love”
~
Isabel drew the bedroom curtains closed before chuckling at the feeling of Edward hugging her from behind. She leaned back against his solid body while a sense of excitement flitted inside as his roaming hands began to explore.
Her flimsy nightdress made her feel naked under his touch, driving her excitement. The moment his hands slipped under her garment Isabel breathed deeper with every breath, every brush of his hands. The feeling of his fingernails softly raking her naked stomach sent erotic sensations tingling through her body.
Isabel felt disappointed when Edward withdrew his hands. Wanting to continue she turned to face her man. Resting her lips against his, feeling his excitement she pushed him towards the bed.
Feeling Edward push the straps of the nightdress towards the end of her shoulder and suddenly stopping, Isabel nodded, and then let the nightdress fall to the floor.
Despite her innocence she felt confident in her undressed state and remained comfortable in Edward’s presence.
Edward took Isabel by her hand and laid her gently onto the soft bed amongst the mass of velvet pillows and cushions. He then began to worship his love with his lips, tasting and tracing her body with his tongue.
Isabel closed her eyes so she could focus on the bliss. She quietly groaned under touch and felt herself break free.
Lying under Edward, Isabel guided him to what he longed for. She then wrapped herself around him never wanting to let go.
In the darkness of the candlelit bedroom Isabel’s heart burned intensely. A wide smile adorned her face as she peered deeply into her lover’s affectionate eyes. She quivered to the touch of her husband while embraced in his arms. In silence she rested her head on his chest where she listened contently to his beating heart.
THE END
The sun of Assam was merciless. It beat the copper skin of the natives until it lay flat against the bones of their skulls and skeletons, burnished like the pots they used, the ones of the same hue. She watched as the long muscles of their arms worked the rakes, the shovels, the burdensome things they carried as they toiled in the fields. If they felt any envy for her leisurely pose on the veranda painted white, likely by their own hands, they did not show it. If they wanted the lemonade she sipped from a tall, cool glass, they did not even dignify it with a glance.
Cornelia Augustina rose from the wicker chair that served as her throne over the tea plantation and draped her willowy frame around the carved white post by her side. She looked, for the entire world, like a painting—a fine English rose, blooming, sweating, ripening in the Indian sun. Who might have thought that the heart beating inside of the girl in the starched lace blouse and long blue cotton skirt was that of a woman? These were the questions that plagued her on a daily basis as she languished inside of the house with two floors. She might not have considered much of it at all, truth be told, had it not been for the reflection in the mirror on her vanity that she caught one night. Her Indian maid, her ama, had just finished helping her bathe. Cornelia fast discovered upon her arrival in Assam, one of the colonies of the British East India Company, on the board of which her father was a member, that she was not equipped to handle the humid climate of this foreign place. Her gowns were immediately and daily soaked with the kind of rancid sweat which was not ladylike anywhere, least of all in the place where the color of her skin was supposed to set her a sight higher than the natives. She took three baths a day, and could still not scrub the smell of her secret self, the self that was supposed to hide under a cool veneer of education and breeding, off of her skin.
It took several months of languishing in the heat for Cornelia to sink into herself. She had heard of the phenomena, the ripening, but had never expected it of herself. She thought herself too haughty, too proud to blend in with the environment that she had been thrust into when her father decided to settle a plantation himself and upended his whole family from their cozy home in gray, gray London into Assam. But it happened. She found herself doffing her silk gowns with their many layers and hoops, and climbing into the attire acquired by her ama, found it far more comfortable and far more suited to her general taste. Her mother and sister were appalled, of course, but Cornelia found she much preferred staying cool and assimilating than leaking undignified secretions into the stylings of a modiste; those habits were a whole lifetime away, one she did not know if she would ever get back to. It was after she had reduced her daily triple bath to one at night that Cornelia sent her ama away to dry her own body. She wrapped the linen about herself, but instead of allowing it to rub her dry and then tossing it aside, she wrapped the damp cloth around the sinuous lines of her body and walked over to the mirror. She lowered her body onto the stool in front of it and glanced quickly at her face, as if terrified of what she might discover there. She decided to start with something that would jar the senses, but reveal little of the truth.
She rose from the stool, unwrapping the linen from the front of her torso rapidly, then snapping it closed, startled by the flash of dark brown nipples that stood out against the whiteness of her body. She glanced at her face again, noting the redness of her cheeks, the wild, unruly tendrils of her dark hair shining wet against her face and head. Her mother and sister refused to go outside without their parasols for fear that the sun would darken their skin and they would look, horror of horrors, “like we belong in those tea fields ourselves.” Cornelia found she liked what the sun was doing to her skin, coloring her, staining her irrevocably. It was time to look deeper.
This time she unwrapped her body slowly, savoring the moment, as if it were not herself looking at it, but rather someone else. She took in the lean line of her hips and thighs, the bones poking out through the skin. A strong stomach, curved, and breasts that had grown heavy in her time in India. Her ama had commented on the growing curves, saying they were a sign of wealth in her village, and that surely, this was the mark of class, that Cornelia was increasing in size in a land where so many atrophied. She had a woman's body now, she knew. Raising a leg to the vanity desk, she admired the long, curved lines of it, and quite suddenly found herself dancing all about the room, flapping the edges of the linen as if it were a cape and she was flying free. Wild girl, free girl. She closed the linen and studied her face in the mirror again. There was little tangible about what she felt then, but she could feel a new adventure looming ahead of her in the very near future, one that would mark her as different forever, so that everyone could see, so that everyone could know she wasn't just another little sniveling English girl who had to live her life by all the rules.
She would not know for several weeks yet how exactly right she was.
It happened, as these things do, largely by chance. In the early dew of morning, Cornelia walked around the plot of land where the tea plants had been gradually growing. She fingered the tiny buds between her fingertips and brushed the morning wetness off of the leaves. The droplets of water collected at her fingers and settled slowly into her skin, absorbing the rainwater of India as if she was the soil beneath her feet. A delicate spider had woven a web in between two of the tallest plants, the silken strands of its creation glowing against the first soft rays of sun. This was the Assam Cornelia was beginning to understand, the one before the sun turned into a cruel beast intent on scorching everything in its path. She watched the fat body of the creature and its eight little legs work tidily to spin more thread and found herself lost in the creative production of such an unknowing little insect who knew exactly what it was meant to do on this Earth. She considered the restlessness that had been fast growing inside of her over the past several weeks, one for which she had no outlet, one for which there was no cure. She reached out her hand to cup it.
“No.”
The voice was smooth as oil, and accented. She nearly lost her balance, for she thought she was alone and had been startled. The man who stood before her was stripped down to the waist and gleamed in the morning sunlight like an apparition, a god, and for a moment, Cornelia thought she was seeing one of those Hindi gods her ama always spoke up.
“Vishnu?” she breathed, still crouched over the spider web.
The man stepped to the side and she was able to see past the lean row of rippling muscles to a smile that gleamed whiter than anything she had ever seen before. “Pardon, miss, but is dangerous. The spider,” he said, and she saw that he had dimples in his cheeks that were so deep they almost creased each cheek in half. He had pale green eyes and a full bottom lip that was a dusky pink against the darkness of his skin. A native, he was a native, and yet her brain refused to register this against an inexorable pull she felt towards him. He came closer and something in her shifted, reminded her that she was indeed grounded in reality, that this was no god. She straightened her spine and stepped away from him as he bent down to clear the web and the spider with a bundled up cloth, shaking it free to make sure the spider had not made its merry way into its folds. When he was done, he stepped to the side and looked at her boldly.
“The spider,” she said hoarsely, then cleared her throat. “You said it was dangerous?”
He smiled again and Cornelia felt dizzy against the brightness of it. “Gone now,” he told her, tucking in the shirt into the waistband of his pants.
“You saved my life,” she told him and watched him turn around, the muscles of his lower back bunching as he did. Cornelia bit her bottom lip. Never in her life had she wanted to touch someone so much. His skin was like satin. He glanced back, but said not a thing. Instead, his unusual eyes raked her over in that brash way again, and Cornelia felt, for the first time in her young life, completely and fully alert. It was as if she had been sleeping this entire time and needed nothing more than the look of this man to wake her; she could do all she want to shake off the story, but she was falling into it as surely as if she had fallen into magic.
Every moment of the next week was spent searching the plantation for him. She had to do so covertly, for asking anyone would have alerted her father and raised suspicions of the truth of her search. It was remarkable how many Indians were working picking tea leaves for the company; she had never even managed to realize it until she began searching for the man who now haunted her dreams at night. She walked the rows of tea plants day after day, searching faces that turned away in discomfort, the natives unused to such penetrating observation. She saw dastardly humanity in visages so dehumanized, intelligence in the eyes of the children, sorrow in those of their mothers. By the end of the week, she had lost hope she would ever see the man again and let herself be swept away by the truth of her fate. She would live out her life in Assam, marry some dry English lord or duke who had also come to sweaty India to see out his fortune, and her living soul would atrophy until she lost the growing sense of her sensuality before it had even the slightest chance of being born.
She spent her nights now rumpling the sheets like never before. She was back to bathing thrice a day to wash away the stickiness on her skin when she woke, borne of nights too heated to remember. Temperatures rose, but so did the heat in her body as the memory of the man she had met permeated her dreams. In the night, she clutched out at the ropy muscles of his arms, the rounded curve of his hip and her hands reached nothing but the empty air, thick and heavy as her lust. In the mornings she woke, eyes drenched with the sleep she did not receive and felt that she never would. The days stretched endlessly, humid and dank with the promise of rains that did not come. Her father mentioned one night over the dinner she picked at that if the rains did not arrive soon, the plants might die. Cornelia felt all this was remarkably symbolic, for she felt she would die soon, as well. Her ama prayed for rain, and Cornelia, to put her mind off on other things, prayed as well. She prayed that deliverance would come soon, in one form or another.
One night as the air stood entirely still, as the sun disappeared behind the thick clouds that had lingered for days on end, Cornelia wrapped herself around the veranda posts again. Her arms were sticky, dampening her shirt, and her skirt clung to her legs in a heavy tangle. She felt something inside of her grow dark as she watched lightning crack the sky.
And he appeared in her periphery as suddenly as the force of nature called upon her rain. He needed no sunlight to illuminate his path, he needed only the whiteness of his smile, and smile he did. She ran towards him, pounding a path on the hard-packed earth beneath her. When she finally reached him, she was gasping, swallowing great pockets of air as if she would never get enough. He held her hands as she doubled over, and hard pellets of rain began to spatter her shirt.
“You saved my life,” she said when she was finally able to stand and look him in the eye.
He did nothing but smile, his pulse pounding patiently against her fingers where he held her hands. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him, and Cornelia did not want to just look anymore. She had done nothing but look at herself in the mirror, nothing but look at him the first time they met. She wanted to seize life with her bare hands and take it for her own. You only get one life to live, after all.
As the sprinkle turned into a full raging storm, Cornelia kissed the Indian.
He gave into her as electricity buzzed down her spine. The shock of it, this life-giving force, sent a wave all the way to her knees and they buckled. He caught her as she fell, the rain drenching her clothing, sticking it to her skin, dampening her hair until it glued itself in wet slicks to her face. He looked down and she followed the line of his sight and found that those dark brown nipples that had shocked her into maturity were sticking out against the cloth of her blouse. She looked up at him, chest rising and falling and new that tonight was the night where she would be introduced to the world.
She cared naught for propriety, but privacy she did crave. Silently she led him into the plantation house, cautioning him with a finger to her lips as they crept past the richly decorated dining room where her ama was serving a meal to her family. Before she crept up the stairs behind him, she passed along the message that she had taken ill and would not be joining them. Her ama looked at the wet footsteps leading upstairs and then shot a razor-sharp look back at her. Cornelia silenced her with a look.
She expected herself to be shy. Instead, she was caught on a knife's edge in between shock and that incredible pulsing feeling pumping blood to all the corners of her body. She circled around him, reaching out her fingertips to brush against him. She caught her reflection in the mirror, and saw how feminine she looked next to his strong frame. Her fingers brushed against his, and she grew bolder, pressing the full length of her digits against the skin of his hip, then the muscles of his belly, and finally, his chest. Here, he caught them, gathered her slim white hand in his brown one and brought it to his lips. The feeling of that full bottom lip against her nerve endings unhinged her.
