Phoebe’s Desire By Nicole Ash
(c) Copyright by Nicole Ash, November 2011 Smashwords Edition Published by New Concepts P...
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Phoebe’s Desire By Nicole Ash
(c) Copyright by Nicole Ash, November 2011 Smashwords Edition Published by New Concepts Publishing New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, GA 31636 www.newconceptspublishing.com This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.
Dedication: For Justin, lest he become winded from tooting his own horn. He is every bit as great a man as he so often assures himself he is.
Chapter One
Phoebe wasn’t a particularly lovely woman. It wasn’t that she was ugly or anything. People had thought her quite pretty in her youth, although even then she would never have agreed with them. As it was, she was now a bit past her prime and time had not been kind to her. She had worked her whole life to maintain her svelte shape, and being an indoor kind of girl she had not gotten all of the sun damage her contemporaries had. Still, she knew in her heart she was past her prime – a spinster in a day and age when only romance readers even knew what that was.
She sat at her over – piled desk all day long reading. Nothing more. It was a far more difficult job sitting and reading when that was one’s job. People who read for entertainment simply had no idea what a professional editor had to go through. Day in and day out, she read through the very dregs of the literary world, hopping to strike gold but knowing that even if she found something interesting to read it would be over before she knew it and she would have to move on to the next one. It had gotten so bad, in fact, that even when she was in bed at night her dreams came to her in book form. There had been a time, not so very long ago, that she’d had a bright future ahead of her. That was before the debacle that surrounded ‘The Bride of Mr. Timberline’. The story that not only cost the company tens of thousands of dollars and caused the embarrassment of her boss – it also cost her the comfortable editorial job she had worked so hard for. Now she found herself in a no-man’s land, a job first year editors normally handled, not editors that had worked for the same company for ten years — pre-acquisitions. Bastards. It wasn’t all my fault damn it. It was a good book. How was I supposed to know she plagiarized the whole thing? Who the hell plagiarizes an entire book anyway? I haven’t read anything for pleasure in years. How was I supposed to know she copied a bestselling author? She would have strangled the fool if she could have gotten hold of her. Her only consolation was that the woman had also ruined herself – she would never have a writing career now. Cold consolation. In the end, though, it didn’t really matter whose fault it was. Phoebe was stuck reading the dregs. Every new author that had never had a release in their life, that had no one at all to represent them, even those that sent a book in a genre they didn’t even publish. She had to read them. All. Half of every single book, just in case it turned out the book got better as it went along. Pure torture. So here she sat, with mounds of manuscripts on her over — loaded desk, struggling through a book the author thought was a romance. She was horribly mistaken.
“Since when is a used trailer salesman a romance hero?” In her mind, she could see the cover. A man and woman in a passionate clutch, her blouse half open, his shirt exposing his muscular chest. In front of a trailer. That brought a giggle she was quick to quash. She flipped through the pages for the umpteenth time, counting as she went. “Three.” Just three more pages to go and she could officially reject this manuscript. Pinching her nose in an attempt to fight off a growing migraine, she struggled on for several more minutes, no longer registering the words at all as she flipped through the pages. “And done! Thank god!” Shuffling the pages and getting them back into a semblance of order, she turned on the monitor on her desk to type the rejection letter. This was always her favorite part, even though it made her feel a little malicious. “… manuscript, Savage Salesman, is not what we are currently looking for, but I think you may have exactly what they need over at H&K Enterprises….” She couldn’t help laughing at that. Herb would be so pissed off that she had sent him another one. He was in much the same fix as she was, working in the trash department. Sending each other garbage had actually become like a little game with them. She sent him hers, he sent her his. She always knew a book was going to be god-awful if it said anywhere in the introduction that someone from H&K had recommended she take a look at it. So she took a special kind of delight in sending only the worst novels she encountered to him. It was the least she could do, after all. She hit the print button, waited a few moments for the rejection letter to print out, shoved the book and letter into the pre-addressed/stamped envelope the author had been so kind as to remember, sealed it up and tossed it into the out-going mail bin. “Good riddance!” Phoebe stood and stretched. “One down.” Of course, that really didn’t matter in the long run, and she knew it. Perhaps, she thought to herself, that was why she hated this job so very much. It never mattered how many books she cleared off her desk. At the start of the next day, there would be more. Sure, she would get to spend a couple of hours going through each one and
stacking them into piles depending on their genres, but that was hardly enough to break up the monotony that was her every day existence. She sat back down in her chair and looked around the desk. “OK, who’s next?” She closed her eyes and waved her hand around at random, settling on the first book she touched. She picked it up and looked at it a moment. “Ms. Sutton…. Sutton….” The name rang a bell. Turning to her computer, she opened a file named simply “Black List.” After a quick search, she discovered the reason she recognized the name. “Ah, there you are! Sorry Ms. Sutton, once on the list, always on the list.” She printed out a form reject letter, slid it along with the manuscript into its SASE and sealed it up. Scooting back in her chair, she held the stack of rejections under her desk still with one hand as she pulled the one on the very bottom out and looked for the sticky note that should be attached. “A little over six months. Well, that’s long enough I guess.” She tossed the manuscript into the outgoing bin, added the new one to the pile she used as a foot rest, and briefly felt the glow of a job well done. “That’s two. Who’s next?” Going through her normal ritual, she felt around until her hand landed on another book. “Historical. Crap. Well, let’s just hope it isn’t too dry.” She ripped open the envelope and tossed it in the garbage after removing the manuscript and SASE. Good for you Ms. … Nicole Ash? Good God what a name! Well you remembered the SASE, but you’re going to have to change that name if you ever hope to make it in the book business! Why is it some of these authors don’t put any thought at all into coming up with a good pen name? Do they really think anyone is going to rush to the store and ask for a book by an author whose name is so easily forgotten? It definitely did not bode well for the story, at least in her opinion, but Phoebe tried hard to ignore that thought as it rushed through her mind. “’Phoebe’s Desire.’ What the heck?” She stared in surprise at the title of the manuscript. “Coincidence?” It was possible it was, however unlikely. It was still a bit of a shock to see her name as part of the title. “Creepy.” It wasn’t like she was one of the big editors at the house she worked for. Not anymore. Someone would have to dig really deep to find
any mention of her. Which meant that either this was a peculiar coincidence, something she as an editor didn’t believe in and wouldn’t accept in any book…. “Or someone went to a lot of trouble to find my name.” She began to read again.
‘Phoebe’s Desire by Nicole Ash Chapter One England- 1740 Count Reginald Kensington was tall, dark, handsome, and very rich. In all, he was a very eligible bachelor. Oh, there were women. There were always women. Beautiful young women with good names and good upbringings. They found every excuse imaginable to hound him, every time he left his home, every time he walked the cobbled streets of England, they were there, falling all over him. Chattering incessantly about stupid little things in which he had no real interest, all of them dying to marry him for his money and bear him lots of children to cement the deal. How droll was his life, how he hated the expectations people had of him as a result of his title and his fortune.’
“Oh brother.” This was already adding up to a difficult book to muddle through. Phoebe’s hand itched to pick up her old red pen and strike through the first paragraph. “Telling instead of showing Nicole…. ”
‘Oh, how he longed for a woman with whom he could while away the hours, someone who could speak to him on his own level. He knew, however, how unlikely it was he would ever find a woman who could talk to him of things of which he knew nothing about…. ’
“Barf. Talk about being full of himself! Who wants to read about a hero like that?” Phoebe knew there were in fact many heroes that were also assholes,
but she had never liked that type. To her, that was a sign the author had no idea what the difference between an alpha male and an asshole was, so they wrote a book about a man being the biggest pig they could come up with – in hopes no one would notice their shortcoming.
‘… so his hope was instead to have a woman who at the very least did not come to him with the hopes of having his money. As long as she performed her duties well and tended to his estate, and left him to himself to pursue his interests – and whichever woman he wished to pursue that week – he would be perfectly happy with any woman. If she happened to be someone he could speak to on occasion, all the better.’
“Oh… my… God! What a pig! Nicole! How could you! Why in the world did you think anyone would publish something like this?”
‘After a great deal of thought, Kensington had at last thought of a solution. He would send away to America for a bride. He would ask for an older one. Around her thirty fifth year, as he had no real interest in having children and did not want a woman seeking to become someone’s baby-maker. Svelte, because he did not care for larger women. Blonde hair was a must. Someone with an education, though he knew that meant she would not be a lovely woman. Her looks were far less important to him than her mind was. He would marry her as soon as she arrived and be done with it, so he could celebrate his twenty first birthday in France with his friends.’
“As if! Jesus Christ, where do these people come up with this crap? A Count in England sending away to America for an old woman? And like a smart woman would ever want to have something to do with a pig like this!” If she had been looking to butter her up, Nicole certainly had not done a very good job of it! The description was eerily close to a verbal portrait of herself but was just off enough to be insulting. Still, it made her uneasy reading it. The urge to hurl the book into the rejection pile was growing, but Phoebe resisted it. Reading this was her job, and she would read it if it killed her.
After ‘Savage Salesman,’ a short novella like this should still be a breeze. At least that was what she kept telling herself as she flipped to the third page. She felt her eye lids growing heavy as she continued reading. If this was indeed a lunatic’s writing, and not one of those coincidences she definitely did not believe in, it might well behoove her to read it further, if for no other reason than to not sound like a mad-woman herself when she turned it in to the police. “I can see now I’ll be adding you to my black list Nicole.... ” ‘The trip by boat was a long one. After arriving in England, Phoebe found herself in a carriage, on her way to meet the man she would soon call husband….’ **** Phoebe stretched and yawned, eyes tightly closed. She realized she had fallen asleep at almost the same instant that she realized something was terribly wrong. She was laying down on something that smelled suspiciously like grass. Which made no sense at all, since there was no grass in her office. She sat up with a start and looked around herself in horrified awe at the scene that was, but simply could not be. It felt to her like her mind had just come out of some sort of fog. She pulled a fistful of dark green grass out by the roots, watching dirt fall in a few little clumps from the roots. Dropping the whole of it, she looked around and took in her surroundings. She was in the middle of a field. There were large trees in the distance, casting a lovely shade, and when she turned in place she could see that there was actually a winding dirt road behind her. “Where the heck am I?” It made no sense at all to be here. It was by no means her office, and she could not fathom where else it could possibly be. It looked to her like some sort of old-time painting. Only real. “Lady Porter? Are you quite alright?” The voice from behind her almost scared her to death. Phoebe shot to her feet and whirled around, freezing in place. A portly old man sat perched on a fine carriage. The carriage door was wide open. “What did you say?”
The old man gave her a quizzical look and the two black horses at the front of the carriage stomped their feet in near unison. “I asked if you were alright Lady Porter.” He crawled from his seat in a manner that bespoke both pain and old age. “Let me help you back in mum.” Phoebe, looked around, then at herself. No, there was no one else around, and she was still wearing her normal clothes. There was no way this old man could have mistaken her for anyone, though that thought brought her little comfort. How does he know my name…. But that was it, she realized with a shudder. “I’m asleep!” “Pardon? Here, take my arm and let me help you back to your seat mum.” “I must have fallen asleep at my desk.” She allowed the old man to help her into the carriage. “Yes, that’s it mum. You must be tired after such a long journey. You must have fallen asleep and fell right out of the carriage. Oh, it is a bumpy road.” He shut the door and proceeded to climb back to his perch. “Git along there! Yes, poor Lady Porter. You must be so exhausted. Don’t worry. I’ll have you to your groom shortly mum.” “No, I’m asleep at my desk right now.” The old man continued to talk, to reassure her he was sorry she had fallen out and that he would get her to her new home soon. “No, that’s completely inaccurate. No coachman would talk this way to a lady! Good grief, Nicole, did you do any research at all before you wrote this?” Phoebe sat on the edge of her seat and looked out the window. She could see a town in the near distance. She did not think she could have missed it before, but she was also reasonably sure she could not have missed the large carriage and horses either. But there they were. “Well that’s convenient.” She sat back inside and pinched herself. “Wake up girl. They’ll fire you for sure if they find you back here sleeping.” After slapping herself did nothing to wake her, Phoebe settled back in the seat, realizing she could do nothing at this point but finish out the dream. And
hope to God Frank did not come down and find her sleeping on her desk. Her career was screwed up enough without adding this to it. At the rate she was going, she might well find herself black listed! “Almost there milady.” “Still wrong! And there’s no way they would ignore my being dressed like this!” “What was that mum? I didn’t catch that?” “Nothing. How much further?” “Oh, we’re pulling up now mum!” Pulling up? Pulling up! Like they would ever have said such a thing! This thing just gets worse as it goes along. No one started using that until much later. Make up your mind about your timeline Nicole and stick to it! The carriage jerked to a halt in front of a rather impressive house. The old man was at the door to let her out within moments of stopping the horses. Far more spry now isn’t he? She scoffed to herself. Stepping down at his encouragement, Phoebe found herself in front of a very large mansion. **** Phoebe was the loveliest woman he had ever seen in his life. She was fae – slender, with long blonde hair that cascaded down her back like a river of gold. She had dressed as a man, giving him the impression she had made some attempt to hide her femininity. It had failed miserably. Nothing could hide the subtle curves, let alone her all too female gait. She tossed her head, looking around over her shoulder and for a fleeting moment he caught sight of her beautiful heart-shaped face. She’s perfect. He could tell now she was far closer to his age than she was to Kensington’s. A perfect flower in bloom. It made him hate Kensington all the more to know that this, then, was the wife he had sent away for. When his good friend Theodore had first told him Count Kensington was sending away for a wife, he had thought that absurd. Had he already
finished sleeping with all the women in England? Now he planned to start on America too? He had thought that whatever woman answered such an advertisement could not be at her prime. To say he was shocked to see a woman such as Phoebe would have been an understatement. It was hard to believe she had not been married long ago. She must be a shrew. But that, too, was hard to swallow. Her face was so open. So innocent. The lines around her mouth were lines of laughter, not anger and bitterness. He found himself longing to see the smile that hid at the corner of her mouth, longing to touch the gold that spilled down her back. She has no idea what she’s getting herself into. That thought bothered him a lot more than it should have. He was here seeking revenge on Kensington, a man he had once considered his greatest friend, but his mind kept going back to the golden – haired Phoebe. He had the urge to rescue her from her fate. And why not? She was not in any danger of physical harm, but the man she was poised to marry would never love her, and a woman such as this surely deserved to be loved. By me? Did he have any love left to give anyone? Bitterness and anger had so long been a part of his life now that it was hard to remember a time he was not angry. Betrayal does that. Perhaps… perhaps I could simply take her instead. It would be easy enough to break into the house and sweep her off her feet. A life of happiness in return for happiness stolen seemed a fair enough trade. She was here specifically to be married. She did not know Kensington. He doubted she would have come at all if she had known anything about the bastard. So it could not break her heart to abduct her so. One husband was as good as another, and one that would treat her as she deserved to be treated would be a far preference over what she would end up with here. And if, in the end, she did not want him? Should that turn out to be the case, he would pay her way back to America, or find her a husband in England she might consider more suitable. No matter what her ultimate fate, he would do all he could to save Phoebe.
**** The house Phoebe stood in front of was, in fact, not at all a historically correct mansion, she thought with annoyance. This is Victorian Nicole! The young, well dressed man that came striding down the walkway, however, was every bit what she would imagine a count should be. He was at least six foot tall, with black hair that fell just below his collar. A strong, square jaw and Roman nose completed the picture. The stormy blue eyes perfected it. Oh my God what a hunk! Nicole was not a gifted writer, but she had great taste where looks were concerned. Phoebe reminded herself that this was the same Count Kensington she had already been reading about – a total ass. That was a hard pill to swallow when the man in question made her insides flutter. True to character, however, he looked her over with a critical eye that immediately infuriated her. “So. This is to be my new wife.” Phoebe blushed in spite of herself. “Turn around.” When she failed to move, he arched a brow. “Willful?” “She is that sir,” broke in the old man who had never even bothered introducing himself to her. At least not that Phoebe recalled. Such bad manners! “Well, I did send off to America. I suppose you’ll do. Come along.” He turned and walked back toward his house, his manservant following closely behind. Phoebe just stood and gawked. “Well!” This was the most inaccurate piece of garbage she had ever read in her entire life! And the nerve of that man! She stood there a few moments, fuming, before she noticed that there were actually other people around her on the street. Suddenly embarrassed, she walked quickly in the door and closed it behind her. “This way Phoebe.” Ignoring the improper entreaty, she followed the voice down the entry hall to the Brandy Room. Wrong again…. It did not seem to really matter to
Nicole what she put or where she put it. There was nothing the least bit historically accurate about anything here. “Sit down my dear.” Phoebe walked into the room, briefly taking in the rich, though mismatched details. A bearskin rug was splayed across the wood floor. There were numerous seats and couches, only a few of which matched, all spread out in small sitting groups. A large painting of Count Kensington was displayed over the quintessential fireplace. Phoebe shook her head. “No?” “What?” “I told you to sit. Are you refusing me already, wife?” Phoebe walked to the seat he indicated, embarrassed when she noticed how his eyes were following her. Kensington sat in the seat directly across from her, his eyes never leaving hers. He sat back and crossed his legs, looking almost relaxed, but to Phoebe he looked like a tiger getting ready to spring. “As you have no doubt figured out by now, Phoebe, I am in fact Count Kensington. I know you came here thinking you were to marry a poor blacksmith. Does it disappoint you to find your future husband is in fact very wealthy?” Phoebe could tell he was fishing for information. He was more than obvious about it. Drawing from what she had already read about him for her answer, she tried to decide what she was supposed to say. He wants a wife that isn’t interested in his money. If I say I don’t care at all, he’ll think I’m lying. If I say I do care, what then? A real lady would never admit to caring about a man’s fortune. To his face. But Nicole hadn’t exactly written a historically accurate book had she? In fact, so far this has had so many ludicrous errors, I fail to see why she ever bothered submitting it. It would be one thing if this were meant to be a comedy…. She shrugged inwardly. There really was nothing for it. May as well go for broke and be honest then! “I’ve always been far more interested in a man’s personality than his money, sir. Money can be made or lost, just as beauty only disappears with age, but
an ugly personality is forever. Once a jerk, always a jerk” And he most definitely was a jerk. The look of shock that came briefly to his face was truly comical. Phoebe actually found herself trying not to laugh at it. Still, she was startled when he sprang from his seat. “Carmine! Get in here please.” A short, plump old woman stuck her head in the door. “Sir?” Kensington turned back to Phoebe with a dark look that sent a shiver through her core. “Take my future wife to her quarters. And ready my horse.” **** Kensington watched his betrothed as she followed Carmine’s lead up the stairs. The tight men’s clothes she wore puzzled him more than he would ever have admitted. He had a proper upbringing and would never mention the un-stylish faux pas she had committed here, but it most assuredly had not escaped his notice! It was unseemly for a woman to wear such clothes, would have been even in the privacy of home. That she had actually traveled this way made it even more of a shock. But they do show her rear – end to perfect advantage. Which was another thing altogether. He definitely did not care for the paths these strange clothes lead his mind down. Nigel, his manservant, came back through the front door, dragging a large trunk in his wake. It shook Kensington from his stupor and he moved to help him. He lifted one side of the truck with a grunt and flung the door closed as soon as it was inside the foyer. “Wait a moment before you start up the stairs with this.” “Sir?”
“I want to check something first.” Kensington pried the trunk open only to discover his fears unwarranted – it was filled with perfectly lovely dresses. He let loose a sigh of relief he had not known he was holding. “My! She does have dresses!” Kensington straightened and flipped the trunk shut. “You wondered too? Did she arrive dressed like this?” “Well, to be honest sir, I didn’t really pay too much attention to how she looked when she arrived, but I know she wasn’t dressed up like that! She must have changed while she was in the carriage sir. Maybe that’s what made her fall out?” Kensington turned a sharp eye on him at that. “She fell out? Was she hurt?” “No sir. I swear she warnt. She seemed a bit confused, but she was fine. Or she seemed fine to me. Would you like me to fetch a doctor sir?” He thought briefly, but decided against it. She seemed well enough to him. “No. No, just take this trunk up to her and see to it Carmine pulls her a bath. Tell her not to worry about the horse. I’ll walk.” Kensington turned and started out the door, pausing a moment when another thought hit him. “Oh, and would you please tell Carmine to take those clothes Phoebe is wearing away while she’s at it?” “What would you have us do with them sir?” Kensington shrugged. “Burn them.” He walked down the short drive to the road beyond, consumed by his thoughts. She was nothing at all like he had expected. She did not look thirty five years of age. As a matter of fact, she hardly looked thirty to him, and he had definitely examined her well enough to tell. There was hardly a line of worry on her face. She was paler than he had thought she would be as well. For some reason, he had assumed that since she was coming from such a harsh place as
America, she would look just as harsh and worn as the country itself. Instead, she was actually quite fair. Her hair was too short. It only fell midway down her back. It was quite unfashionable, in both style and length, and she was the only woman he had ever seen wear her hair down like that. It curled slightly in places, and although it was as golden as the sun, the roots of her hair were a dark, rich brown. The most unusual coloring he had ever seen. He liked it. Had she intended wearing it that way as a temptation for him? But what would have been the point. They were already to wed. They had a deal. He would not go back on his end of it. She was actually more than he had bargained for, when it came down to it. Kensington glanced around, finding himself surrounded by the sights and smells of the red district. His feet had unconsciously brought him down the path he had traveled down so often in the past. Several lovely women called his name as he passed them by. No…. Not today. The decision made, he turned his steps toward River Street and the long line of bars that ran along it. “I need a drink.” **** “I can bathe myself.” “But mum — ” “No, seriously. I can bathe myself!” It was hard not to yell at the woman. She had told her over and over again that she wanted privacy, that she was more than capable of bathing herself and had been doing so since she was a little girl. The woman just wasn’t listening. Darn it Nicole! “Look, you’re not going to bathe me. Just leave me alone. Now. I order you.” Carmine looked taken aback, but finally relented and slowly left the room. Alone at last, Phoebe breathed a sigh of relief. “This is insane.” I’m insane. This dream is insane. Nicole is insane, too, for writing it.
The room Carmine had led her to was very opulent. Though not quite right in the details. It had many old English elements to it, but very few of them were a match for the timeline. Granted she had never actually studied all of the interior design details used during the 1740’s, but it didn’t look right to her to have wainscoting inside a bedroom. Especially when the swan chaise in the corner was clearly from the 1800’s. She could ignore all of the older pieces. Many of them would not have been considered fashionable, especially in the house of a Count, but they could at least have existed in the period. Not so the chaise. “It’s all in the details Nicole.” She walked to the tub Carmine had been trying fervently to coax her in to. The rose-scented water inside was lukewarm at best. Not getting any warmer Phoebe. It might actually have been a comfortable temperature for a bath- if she could have gotten that fool out sooner. Pulling a chair over to the door and jamming the back under the door handle, she stripped out of her street clothes and stepped into the water. It felt colder than she had thought it would. A lot colder. There was a small bar of soap on the edge that smelt strongly of lavender. “I hate lavender.” But there was nothing else to wash off with at the moment, so lavender it was. She scrubbed off her face, lifting her hair from the back of her neck and splashing water down her back before quickly washing off her arms, legs, and nether regions. Satisfied she was as clean as she could get sitting in a tub instead of standing in her shower, she stood and dried off. Stepping over to the trunk the old man, who had still not introduced himself to her, had dragged into the room, she was immediately struck by the number of frilly dresses. Wow. Some of these are actually right for the period! She pulled them out, one after the other, holding them in front of herself and gazing at her reflection in the full length mirror. Dress after dress ended up splayed across the bed, but she finally settled on a light blue striped dress with a frill of lace around the neck. Getting into it was easy. Buttoning all of the tiny buttons was not. But after a valiant battle, wherein she buttoned all of the bottom and top buttons first,
she finally managed to get the three in the middle of her back through their respective holes. Smoothing out the wrinkles that had formed in the front, she turned again to the mirror. “Not bad.” The fit was perfect. Which was more than a little creepy. How could Nicole have known her dress size? She never even wore dresses. She found them to be too confining. Aside from that, most of them were various shades of ugly and they just didn’t look right on her. This one, on the other hand. This dress looked like it was made just for her. The light blue really set off the blue of her eyes and the lace accentuated her slim neck without making her look like she had a goose neck. She took the brush she found lying on the vanity and brushed out her long [straight[you said it was curly?] hair. Satisfied she looked the best she could without her makeup, she finally moved the chair out from in front of the door. Almost immediately, Carmine came walking in like she’d been invited. “Oh! Mum, you’ve dressed yourself. The lord is waiting for you to come down and eat mum. Come along, now.” Ignoring the inconsistencies she was coming to expect and wondering to herself if she should just stay in her room and ignore the food, she followed Carmine’s lead down the stairs and through the house to the dining room. The look on Kensington’s face when she walked in, the way he bumped his knee in his rush to stand up, brought a smile of pride to Phoebe’s lips. Guess I look better than I thought? Or maybe he was just surprised I came at all. She was hesitant to allow herself the luxury of thinking she looked nice. After all, this was a very young man she was dealing with. To him, she had to seem fairly ancient. “Phoebe. Glad you could join me.” “Oh? Was it a request?” Ignoring the look that darkened his face, she approached the large table. Her stomach growled in a most alarming, and audible, way, sending a blush rushing across her face. “Are you hungry my dear?” Kensington pulled out a seat and ushered her into it. “It looks like the cook may well have outdone herself tonight.”
The food looked scrumptious. She had not realized how hungry she was until she smelt and saw it. Now it felt like her stomach was going to gnaw its way out and onto the table. “It looks good.” She gave him what she hoped was a pleasant smile, trying to keep her mind off the pain, wishing someone would just serve her and knowing she would finally get to use all that table etiquette she had learned from her grandmother. When a dish of soup was finally set in front of her and she noticed the large array of silverware at her place, she knew there was no hope at all. She looked to Kensington for a clue, but he just sat there staring at her. Is he waiting for me? She lifted what she hoped was the correct spoon and started to eat. Kensington continued to sit there staring. “Um. Is something wrong?” “What? Oh. No. I suppose I’m just not all that hungry after all.” “Oh.” Well I am! She was hungry enough for both of them. “We need to discuss the terms of our marriage.” That killed her appetite in one fell swoop. The churning of hunger was replaced by the churning of nerves and she found she could not easily swallow. If we marry, it means he’ll… expect… things…. And Phoebe was definitely not a virgin. How would he react when he discovered this? In this time period, that was more than just a taboo. A woman could not have sex outside of wedlock. As large a problem as this represented, she was not even sure she wanted to have sex with him to start with! She hardly knew the man, but she had been far from impressed with what she had read about him. That thought calmed her down a little. All he wants me here for is so the young girls will leave him alone and he can continue with his… lifestyle. It was insulting. It was extremely insulting to think that he only wanted her there as an excuse to do what he really wanted to do. But at least that meant there was not much of a chance the fact she was not a virgin would ever come up. And after all, Phoebe, this is only a dream about a stupid book.
“We will marry tomorrow, as agreed in our correspondence. After that, I have business in France.” Phoebe started to speak, but he cut her off. “I know, it’s sudden, but this is important. I am sure you understand?” “Sure….” Business? Is that really what he’s calling it? “I will return soon enough. This should give you time to settle in to your new life here. I’m counting on you to help run my estate.” They ate their dinner in palpable silence. Phoebe’s mind whirled. She had never been close to marriage before. Sure, there had been boyfriends, lovers, and a few proposals, but she had never actually been engaged. Now, she had been engaged for a single day and before she had even come to terms with that, she would be married. It was more than sudden. It was ludicrous. But this is just a book, after all. Isn’t it Nicole? That just brought to mind more problems without bringing the comfort she had meant it to. Real or not, it certainly felt real- and she was unable to wake herself from the dream. How much longer might it be? What were the chances she would manage to wake up before her boss came in and found her sleeping on the job? **** The bed in her room was surprisingly comfortable. The sheets were freshsmelling, the pillows full of goose down, the bed itself was soft and cool and felt like a cloud. Phoebe lay wide awake, staring up at where the ceiling should be- invisible now in the inky black of the night. She had been laying in the same position for hours, filled with dread and anxiety and unsure what to do about any of it. Is it even possible to go to sleep in a dream? She had never done so before that she could recall. Then again, she had never had a dream go on this long before. She had certainly never dreamt anything this vivid either. The soft sound of her door opening sent the hairs on the back of her neck to standing on end. Kensington? Why…? She stayed still, her eyes darting over to where she sensed someone’s approach. My god! Don’t tell me he’s here to claim me before the wedding! Truth be told, she had not thought that would ever be a problem. Not considering what he wanted her for, especially not
with him being such a young, handsome man. It was not that she was a prude. She had never been prudish in her life. She just did not generally get anything out of sleeping with a man she did not know. And she did not know Kensington nearly well enough in one day’s time to sleep with him, dream or no dream! Even if he was rather handsome. What do I do? She did not know how he could sneak into her room as dark as it was, let alone how he could skulk around as easily as he was when she could not even see her hand in front of her face, but she did know she would hurt herself if she tried it.
I’ll just pretend I’m asleep. Maybe he’ll go away if he can’t wake me up. She held her eye lids closed and as relaxed as she could, thankful she had decided to do so a few seconds later when a candle was lit beside her bed. A moment later, she felt an iron grip over her mouth. Her eyes flew open, sudden shock and horror washing over her in a wave when she saw the man in her room was not Kensington- or any man she recognized. Phoebe tried to scream, but the man only lunged at her, pressing his other hand to her mouth. He leaned in close to her, his breath hot against her cheek. “Make a sound, and you’ll be sorry. Make no mistake. Be quiet and do as I say and no harm will come to you. Now, you are not going to do anything that might cause me trouble, are you?” Phoebe shook her head. Releasing her, he straightened, his cold green eyes penetrating hers. Her heart beat so hard and fast in her chest she was sure it would beat a hole through and escape her. “Who- who are you?” Her cover had slipped, leaving her uncomfortably exposed, but she didn’t dare move to gather it back. Almost as though he heard her thoughts, his eyes strayed from hers, moving down her in a sweeping caress. “I’m Nolan. And you, Phoebe, are coming with me.” ****
Phoebe’s mouth was dry. It might have been dry anyway as nervous as she was, but the cloth Nolan had stuffed into it had leached away what moisture might have been left her. Her head was swimming as a result of being bowed over his shoulder. She was losing feeling in her fingers because the cloth he had used to tie her wrists was far too tight and was cutting off her circulation. On the up side, the bindings on her ankles were fairly loose. Unfortunately, that was the only bright side she could see at the moment. I hate you Nicole. And I really, really hate this book. It did not take long for Nolan to sneak out of the house with her. As soon as he had made it down the driveway and out the gate, he put her in his carriage, climbed in behind her, and signaled the driver to go. She lay crumpled on the floor, jarred repeatedly as the driver whipped the horses into a canter. What a get-away car. “I apologize for all of that miss.” Nolan lifted her onto the seat, kneeling before her. “If I remove the bindings, you won’t try to run? No? Good girl.” He removed the gag from her mouth before untying her hands, hardly taking his eyes from hers. “I had heard Kensington sent away for a wife, but I never imagined….” “Ow.” Phoebe started rubbing the circulation back into her hands as soon as they were loose. Nolan followed her gaze and finally looked at her hands. The look of dismay that came over his face when he did, when he saw how swollen and red they had become, seemed genuine enough. “Please accept my apologies Phoebe. I never meant to hurt you like that.” “Just who the hell are you and why did you kidnap me?” Nolan looked up and seemed taken aback. At my language? Well, I know a lady of breeding would never speak that way, but with everything else so jumbled up….
“My apologies. I am Nolan Warrick. I abducted you on the eve of your wedding because the cur you have chosen to tie yourself to stole my Annabelle on the eve of ours.” “Wait, this… this is about another woman?” A slap in the face. Well, she supposed she did not have grounds to be outraged. She hardly knew Count Kensington, did not know Nolan Warrick at all, and did not belong in the middle of this bizarre story. Still, it irked her to be in this situation. Nolan looked chagrined. “My apologies Miss Phoebe. I-” “Stop saying you’re sorry. And stop the carriage. I’m not going anywhere with you!” He got off his knee, settling into the seat across from her. His eyes had become colder, his face a mask. Phoebe shied away when he leaned toward her. He grabbed her face and shoved the gag back into her mouth. “Don’t dare spit that out Miss Phoebe. It is a pity and a shame that such a pretty young woman should have such an unfavorable disposition. I told you I would not harm you, and I have told you why I have to abduct you. There is no reason I can see why you should make things harder than they have to be.” As outraged as she was, Phoebe didn’t spit the gag out. She wanted to. She wanted to shove in it his mouth and hurl him from the carriage. How dare he? How dare he say I have an unfavorable disposition? What the heck is a lady supposed to do in a situation like this, Nicole? Just go along with it? Then it hit her. Faint. I’m supposed to faint. I had almost forgotten what a cheesy little book this is. The problem, of course, was that Phoebe was no lady. Not by their standards. And she certainly was not some swooning flower that would fall at the drop of the hat. She had dignity. She would simply have to wait until he let his guard down and sneak away. Then…. What would she do after she got away? Go back to Kensington and a loveless marriage? Live on the streets? What if she never woke up from this
dream? What if she was stuck here, forever, in a horribly written historical? Could things get much worse? She had been so outraged by his back-handed insults that she had not fully registered anything else. Pretty? Young woman? Those words took a little bit of the sting out. Though not a lot. It did, however, bring another question to mind. Just how old is this man? Phoebe gazed across the distance at him. His eyes were still focused uncomfortably on her face, but she tried to ignore them and search his. His complexion was swarthy, his black hair hung just over his neck and brushing his collar. His face had character, his bow-shaped lips thin and jaw strong and square. All in all, he was a handsome man. Maybe not as handsome as Kensington was, but that really was just a matter of taste. There was certainly something to be said about the virtues of a mature man. He had to be around her own age, maybe even a few years older. Her gaze was pulled over and over again to his deep green eyes- so much colder now than they had been. Phoebe had to remind herself that this particular man had clearly gone off the deep end. Jealous rivalries could not possibly end well. Especially for her. **** It turned out Nolan was nowhere near the villain Phoebe was expecting him to be. As a matter of fact, she had a hard time believing he could be capable of kidnapping, even though that was exactly what he had done last night. She sat up in bed and looked around the room. It was not as well furnished as the one in Kensington’s house. The furniture matched the time period a little better, but she figured Nicole might have simply been too lazy to describe anything overly lavish here. It was cozy. She liked that. The bed itself was made of simple wood design, devoid of heavy carving. The blankets were a warm blue, without fussy decoration. Phoebe sat up and stretched. Despite the fear she had at first felt, Nolan had worked hard to make her feel at least somewhat comfortable. He had not only sacrificed what was obviously his own bedchamber for her, he had even allowed her privacy. He had told her when he left that she was free to lock the door if she so chose.
Which she did. Upon inspection, she had discovered there was really no other way out, though. The room was only on the second story so jumping out would have normally been an option. Only it was not. The window opened above a lovely rose garden. Right above the thick of it. With one glance she had known there was no escape route open to her. Not unless she wanted to be torn apart by the vines below. But locking the door had helped her feelings tremendously. “Are you going to come out at all?” The deep voice from beyond the door startled her out of her reverie. “I brought you another dress. I had to guess at the size. I’ll leave it outside the door. Come downstairs when you’ve changed if you are at all interested in breaking fast.” The whole concept of food made her stomach growl. Hopping from the bed, she laid her head against the door, listening to the sound of disappearing footsteps. Only daring to crack open the door when they stopped, she peaked outside. The hallway was empty. Across from the door, splayed across the back of a chair, was a lovely green dress. Looking both ways, she stepped out, grabbed the dress, and hurried back inside. Phoebe stood admiring her reflection several minutes later. The dress fit her like a glove. It had a delicate lace at the low-cut neckline, tightened just enough at the waist, and the folds of the skirt fell just to the tops of her toes. The green really brought out the color of her eyes and the cut of the dress accentuated her figure. Not finding a proper brush, she finger combed her long hair, pulling out the worst of the tangles before stepping back into the hallway. It was nice not having someone standing there staring at her. It was nice not having someone insist on dressing her, too. Phoebe followed the aroma of food downstairs to the dining area. It was a lot less grand than Kensington’s, but she liked the cozy atmosphere of Nolan’s house. It felt more like… home.
“Ah, I see you did decide to join me.” Nolan stood at her approach, coming over and pulling out her chair, ushering her into it, and gently pushing her to the table. He sat back down himself, staring at her from across the table. “I could hardly refuse.” Nolan seemed taken aback. “You could have and I would have served your breakfast to you upstairs. And fed it to you if I had to. I won’t have you starving yourself.” He gestured toward the food before her. “Please, help yourself.” They ate in awkward silence, for which Phoebe cursed Nicole. Why? For pity’s sake can’t you make anything a little less awkward for me? She was starting to suspect Nicole did not like her. “Are you well Miss Phoebe?” She found him looking at her curiously. “I was. Am. Why are you doing this? You still haven’t explained why you kidnapped me.” Or why you’re being so nice about it now. It was hard to think of someone as being a dangerous kidnapper when the only threat they made was to feed you breakfast in bed. “I told you before. Kensington took someone away from me. Now it’s my turn.” “So, you’ve kidnapped me to prove a point? My god, what is with you people? I’m not your property! I’m a human being! Just what do you think you can gain by kidnapping me?” “Do you love him?” That stunned her into silence and immediately stopped her tirade. Love? “What?” How could she love him? She did not even know him! “Do you love Count Kensington?” It was a ridiculous question. Of course not. “That’s none of your business.” “I’m making it my business.” She gave him a defiant look, but quickly realized there was no point in pretending.
“No. I don’t even know him.” “I did not think so. The man you were about to marry stole my betrothed. Not because he cared anything about her. Just to show that he could. He doesn’t care about you—” “And what? You do?” “I could.” His dark green eyes seemed to bore into her very soul. “I could if you would let me. He could never give you what you deserve Phoebe. He could never love you. To him, you’re just an old woman, fifteen years his senior. He only wants you to keep house for him.” “And you don’t? Isn’t that about what every man in this age did? Use women as housekeepers?” Don’t they still do that even this day and age? Like they’d ever stop expecting women to baby them! “I can tell you’re… so much more Phoebe. A chance. That’s all I’m asking for. If Kensington shows up to take you home, you are free to go.” “You mean when.” Nolan raised a brow at her, but nodded. Well, it is just a book. No. A crazy dream about a really stupid book. But a book, none the less. “Ok. But only until Kensington comes.” Which should be any time now. He had to have noticed by now that she wasn’t in the house. Crap! What if he thinks I’ve left on my own? Would he bother to come looking for her? They had a marriage contract- had to have had one- but did it follow that he would come looking for her? **** It turned out Phoebe was lucky she had not decided to hold her breath. Over a week later, she was still living in the house with Nolan. The only thing she was sure of at this point was that this was definitely not a dream. Or a book. Though that did not explain exactly what it was, or how she had come to be in this situation. In fact, very little of anything made any sense to her any more. A knock at the door startled her.
“Yes?” “May I come in sweet?” Nolan. He had been so sweet to her. On the third day she was here, he had taken her out and had several lovely dresses tailored just for her. He brought her flowers almost every day. And candies. He called her endearments- though also by her own name often enough she knew it was not just because he could not remember it. In fact, he had behaved in every way like a gentleman suitor. Once you get past that whole kidnapping thing. Was this Stockholm syndrome? “Phoebe?” “Uh. Yes, come on in. The door isn’t locked.” Nolan came through, a smile immediately spreading across his face. Was it just her imagination, or was he more handsome now? “I picked these from the garden for you.” He strode to the dresser and added a handful of red roses to the vase, plucking out the oldest flowers and setting them aside. “Thank you. I keep telling you, you don’t have to do that.” He turned toward her. “You don’t like them?” “No, I love them—” “Then I shall continue to bring them to you.” In a way, he was a bit too nice. In her youth, that would have made Phoebe run. Too nice so often meant a lack of excitement. Now that she was a little older, and the young exciting men had all turned out to be immature and unwilling to commit, ‘too nice’ no longer seemed like such a bad thing. She knew he was trying to woo her. He had made that intention quite clear the day he brought her here. She knew he would eventually ‘even out.’ Probably. She found she was definitely interested in him, but being a woman in a strange time and place, that at least resembled the 1700’s, she knew it would be frowned upon for her to make the first move.
I would be labeled a harlot. And possibly thrown out. And if she was right, and there was no way out of this world, it was important that she fit in as well as she could. Still, looking into his sparkling green eyes, she felt something flutter inside her.
In her own time, after living with a man this long, second base would have likely been involved. But in this one? Nolan moved to her side, hesitantly taking her hand in both of his. He looked down at them, refusing to meet her eyes. “Phoebe….” It was so sweet when he did that. He had done it several times now. He never finished his sentence. But there was something very endearing about the whole thing. It made butterflies flutter in her stomach and sent a wave of warmth through to her toes every time he touched her. She leaned in, brushing her lips against his forehead. His head jerked up and he met her gaze, his own filled with a hunger she had only glimpsed in them. Her body had an immediate reaction, flooding her channel and sending a spark through to her core. He wanted her. Badly. There was something very heady about being wanted by an attractive man. Releasing her hands, he caught her waist, pulling her abruptly against his length. Surprised but gratified and eager to discover if his kiss would be as exciting as she thought it would be, Phoebe lifted her lips in offering. She intended to at any rate. Even as she tilted her head obligingly, however, he speared his fingers through her hair and jerked her head back, pressing his mouth firmly to hers. A shock of surprise went through her but also a thrill of anticipation. This is going to be one of those wild sex scenes. Hot dog! I hope Nicole knows how to write one!
She parted her lips expectantly. A jolt seemed to travel through him but before she could consider the possibility that French kissing just wasn’t done in this age, he surprised her by doing just that. A wave of heat traveled through her. Thank god Nicole hadn’t bothered with research. The man knew how to kiss a woman right! She discovered he had pinned her arms between them and began struggling to free one to pull him closer—or prevent his escape. He tightened his grip on her. Thwarted from tangling her fingers in his hair, she decided to explore the plumbing instead. Another jolt through him, but she was too intent on exploring the evidence of his desire to worry at the moment about the inconsistency of her actions for the historical period. My god! The man is hung like a horse! But then again, they always are in these romances, aren’t they? She was gratified that at least Nichole hadn’t screwed that up. He broke the kiss and she groaned a complaint—until she discovered he had only drawn slightly away to explore her neck, conveniently freeing her arms. She took advantage of her freedom instantly, lifting one arm and tangling her fingers in his cool, silky hair just about the time he wove his way downward with kisses to the impediment of her bodice. She was just wondering how much time it would take to get the buttons unfastened to give him better access when he shoved one hand into her bodice to cup her breast and lift it out for a thrilling kiss. She heard the distinct sound of tearing cloth and distress flickered briefly through her mind that he’d torn the beautiful dress. But what the heck? Her eyes nearly rolled back in her head when he captured the peak of her breast in his mouth and tugged at it. Her breath caught in her throat. Fire rolled through her and ignited her nether regions. She felt her sex spasm, clenching so hard her belly cramped mildly.
He was breathing gustily by the time he released her first nipple. She guided his head to the other. Instead of obliging, however, he merely nuzzled it and then swept her up abruptly and strode across the room. Her heart soared. The bed! Thank god Nicole had planned this adequately! There is a bed handy! Unfortunately, the clothing didn’t magically vanish and she discovered fairly quickly they weren’t going to either. The hell with it, she thought, as he carried both of them down on the mattress and covered her body with his own, pressing his spectacular manhood into her belly so hard that it was nearly bruising— and in entirely the wrong place to do her any good. They wrestled, with each other as well as the unyielding clothing. She could not get her legs untangled from the skirt to wrap them around him and bring that lovely, huge, hard, tubular thing where she needed it. He made a sound deep in his throat that sounded rather a lot like a growl of frustration, tugging at her dress in his efforts to ‘unveil’ her womanhood while he planted his mouth on her neglected breast and drove her up the wall tugging at it. She was almost ready to scream with frustration when she felt his hand on her bare leg. Anticipation soared in her veins once more when he cupped her there and then began to stroke her wet cleft through the pantelettes she was wearing. The hole in the crotch, she thought, frantically directing him by telepathy and a wiggle of her hips. With a frustrated growl he tore a hole in the seam and shoved his hand through, ripping it wider, and found her split, dragging his fingers along it until he found the spot she needed him to touch. Tired of waiting, she began trying to ‘unearth’ his manhood. It redirected his mind and she wasn’t certain she was particularly happy about that because he ceased teasing her clit with his wonderfully large fingers and began tearing at the fastening of his trousers. When did they invent zippers? And why couldn’t Nicole have thrown that in to make things easier when she’d gotten just about everything else wrong about the time period?
He unearthed goliath, found her opening and began trying to pry his way in. Phoebe managed to lock one leg around his hips and assisted him in the push. He didn’t just seem big! He was big! The burn of his entry was not altogether a pleasant surprise and neither was the fact that he almost shoved her g-spot through her spine when he hit bottom and hadn’t run out of length. She let out a pained grunt. He silenced her by planting his mouth over hers and penetrating her mouth with his tongue. Heat shot through her, generating enough moisture in her nether regions that it eased the burning pain as he began to drive into her with powerful strokes that told her he was probably a lot closer to cuming than she was. Fortunately, despite the dismay that flickered through her mind, the realization that he was so turned on sent her jetting skyward toward her own release. She clutched him tightly, focusing on beating him to the finish line. She felt his manhood jerk within her channel in imminent release. Goosebumps sprang up and chased up and down her body like Christmas lights. The tension that had coiled within her maxed out and she came with a suddenness that left her crying out into his mouth— little sounds of ecstasy that sharpened to screams as he broke the kiss abruptly, stiffened momentarily and then began to thrust faster as he reached his own peak. Phoebe released a sigh of utter contentment as he collapsed weakly on top of her, shuddering in the aftermath of his own release. **** Nolan felt bad. No, he felt worse than simply bad. He felt like a bastard. I took advantage. He knew it was wrong. He had known it even as he had done it that it was wrong, but it had just felt so… right. He had wanted Phoebe from the moment he laid eyes on her. Now, there was no telling what was going through her mind. Had leaving as he did made it better or only worsened things in her mind? At this point, would she believe he wanted her for more than just a mistress? More importantly, when he asked for her hand, would she ever believe he was doing so because he wanted her for a wife and not because he felt guilty for taking advantage of her?
You really messed up this time. He had been on the verge of asking her this time. He knew what he wanted to say, but when he tried to speak nothing came out. The truth was Nolan had never been as eloquent as every other man he knew. He had a hard time explaining himself. He felt too awkward to even try. And after he had looked up into those eyes… he lost all reason when he looked into those eyes of hers. I could drown in those eyes and die a happy death. And when those sweet lips had touched his head…. The fact that she had, at least at the time, seemed willing enough to give herself to him did not excuse his own actions. She was a young lady and should have been treated as such- not like some common harlot. How could he possibly make something like this up to her? How could he prove his sincerity, and at the same time show her that he wasn’t the bastard he knew in his heart he must be? Harlequin’s ball. That was it! His good friend Siegfried Harlequin had issued him an invitation to his ball only a few days previous. The gardens there were magnificent. They would make a perfect setting to ask for her hand. And there would be no better time to announce the engagement, surrounded by his compatriots, peers, and friends. Everyone who was anyone would be there. **** He thinks I’m a whore. Phoebe was sure that he must. After all, she had practically thrown herself at him. In her own time, that would have been perfectly acceptable, but this was a historical setting. It just was not something women did. All she could do was hope that Nicole was true to form and did not stick to historical fact. What were the odds? The way he had torn out of the room like he had been pitched out had not helped her feelings at all. Was this, then, what her life was reduced to? A voice in the back of her mind asked if that was really such a bad thing.
She suspected Nicole of putting it there. The witch had stayed busy manipulating everything. She was sure of it now. But the answer was not an easy one to come by. It was not that she cared about what other people in this crazy world thought about her. On the contrary, it made her angry to think that they would consider their opinions of her to matter. She did care about what Nolan thought, however, and there was no way of telling what that was. I could ask. But how many people told you the truth when you bluntly asked for it? His manners were far too good. He would likely lie through his teeth before telling her something if he thought it would hurt her. It bothered her not knowing what her place was. She had thought she knew, that she was being wooed and courted, but now…. Phoebe huffed and pulled the blankets over her head, wishing she could just disappear. Or at the very least take back her mistake and go back to the way things had been before. Not that she had not thoroughly enjoyed herself. It had been the best sex she had ever had in her life. But what were the chances, now, that she would ever get it again? What if it had not been as good for him as it was for her? She chided herself for being foolish. It should not matter how much he enjoyed it. What should really matter to her now was her future, which seemed impossibly less bright now than the dim hopes she had had before she had given in to her desires. “Phoebe.” Oh my god it’s him! And she wasn’t dressed! She had been so distressed she had not even gotten out of bed. Throwing the blanket off her head, she turned to the window. By the glare outside, it was going on midday. She could have happily moped in the room for a week, but she was sorry for it now. “Yes?” She leapt from the bed, rushing over to brush her hair and rinse out her mouth before thinking about the fact she was still very nude from the night before. “May I come in, sweet?”
No! Not now! Go away! I need at least an hour here! “In a minute!” She tore open her closet and yanked out the first dress she put her hand on, throwing it over her head, only to find herself stuck a moment later when she discovered the laces were still tied. “I really need to talk to you.” Crap crap crap! She almost fell over in her fight to free herself from the dress. “Can it wait?” “Not really.” So much for buying herself some time! She yanked the laces loose and pulled the dress over her head again, rushing toward her dresser as she worked to pull the laces closed again and tie them behind her back. Her hair was now horribly messed, standing on end in places, and her face still had the telltale wrinkles of sleep across one cheek. “I look like the wrath of god!” “Pardon?” “Uh, I’m coming! Just… just give me a minute.” She thought she heard him chuckle, but his humor was the least of her worries at the moment. She pulled on her dress, smoothing it the best she could, pulled her hair into a loose up-do, and scrubbed off her face before rinsing her mouth. Looking herself over in the mirror again, she was not the least bit surprised to find she hardly looked much better. Phoebe sighed heavily. It probably doesn’t even really matter, does it? But it did. It did to her. She opened the bedroom door, prepared for a look of shock that never came. Nolan simply smiled at her. “You’re looking refreshed.” Yeah right! “Thanks.” “May I come in?”
She backed out of the way and allowed him to enter, moving a few steps back toward the bed before she caught herself and blushed. As there was nowhere else in the room to sit aside from the bed, or the chair that currently sat facing the bed, she just stood and hoped he would not notice she had forgotten to put on her shoes. “A dear old friend has invited us to a ball tonight. I had hopes you might be interested in attending.” That’s it? All that just so he could invite her to a party? Why couldn’t he have asked through the door! “Sure.” She did not really feel like going. She would not know anyone, but she had the nasty suspicion that they would sit in judgment of her. And after last night, there would actually be some validity to the rumors she was just sure were brewing. **** Phoebe was pleasantly surprised to find the ball was a lot more entertaining then she had anticipated it would be. Nolan had presented her with a lovely cream-colored dress with beadwork along the sleeves and bodice. It’s nice having something that’s one of a kind. True, everything people wore in this time period was one of a kind, but she was used to shopping at places like Wally-World where everything was mass produced out of the cheapest materials money could buy. She had never in her life owned anything that was made especially for her, but now she had a number of lovely dresses to call her own. She would trade them all, and the cute shoes too, for a handful of Q-tips. She had been right about one thing. She did not know the people she was surrounded by. They pressed in all around her, all them smiling fake smiles, laughing and chatting. Phoebe felt set adrift in a sea of people. The only exception was Nolan. Who had left at least ten minutes ago to get her something to drink. She had not even danced yet. Not that she was sure she could dance. The cute little shoes Nolan got to match her dress were pinching her insteps in two and her toes had already
started going numb. She stood still, afraid to move too far from where he had left her, lest he have trouble finding her again, and stared blankly in the direction he had gone. “Phoebe?” She blinked and a smile curled her lips and she turned around. “Nol—” The smile died with the name as her eyes met Count Kensington’s. “It is you!” Where the blazes have you been? Have you forgotten we had a contract?” Kensington took her by the arm and proceeded to drag her toward one of the verandas. “Come along. I prefer not to make a scene here, for your sake, but I will if you do not move quickly.” My sake? Phoebe dug in her heels at that. “Let me go!” “Phoebe!” His voice was far more stern now. He glanced around and lowered it. “Phoebe, you and I had a deal. I paid your way to England. In return, you were to become my wife. I had thought you left to return to your home. I wrote to your family. You have had me worried to death, and here I find you- not dead in some gutter or on your way to America, but at a ball! “ Phoebe managed to pull her arm free of his vice-like grip. She shook her finger in his face and had just opened her mouth to respond, to call him all sorts of names a lady would never call anyone, when a voice boomed from behind her. “Get your hands off my wife Kensington!” “Your wife?” Kensington’s voice came as a whisper. He glared first at Phoebe, before turning his attention to Nolan. “I have a contract on her and I hardly believe you could have found someone to marry you this quickly. Ahh. So you lie.” Nolan stepped past her, hands clenched into fists. “She’s mine Kensington. Not yours. Mine. You can’t have her.” “My contract—”
“Damn your contract! There’s nothing you can do this time. I won’t let you have her. I won’t let you win. Not this time.” So… that’s really what this was all about…. The argument continued, fast drawing the attention of the revelers around them. Not about me. It never was about me, was it? Hot anger and wounded pride burnt a path across her face. Phoebe felt the sting of tears in her eyes. “If you dare do this, I will have no choice but to bring the law into the matter.” Fighting over her as though she were nothing more than a piece of meat. It would not have been so bad if it had actually been about her. But it wasn’t. Not really. It’s about her. The other woman. And it always had been. Phoebe turned and pushed her way through the crowd, blindly shoving her way through, fighting back the hot bitter tears that fell down her cheeks. She gasped for air as she finally got through the front door of the house, coughing and choking on her anger and humiliation. Never about me at all. “Phoebe! Wait!” She did not. She stomped into the night, determined not to let anyone else see her cry, especially not the man that had hurt her. “Phoebe!” He grasped her arm and she whirled around, trying in vain to fight him off, slapping at him blindly. “You let me go right now!” “Phoebe….” “Stop. Just stop! I know what this is all about Nolan. I know. You never cared anything about me. Neither of you care about me. All you care about is some stupid little whore. You’re only desire is revenge!”
The ice cold look that came over Nolan’s face frightened her and she held still, suddenly afraid of what he might do. He glared at her and spoke to her through gritted teeth. “And tell me, my lady, since you seem to know everyone and everything so well- what is Phoebe’s desire?” “My desire? My desire is to go home!” In the next moment, the whole world seemed to spin out of control, and darkness consumed her. **** Phoebe sat up strait, shocked numbness settling over her. “I’m… back…?” She was sitting at her desk in her office. Is this a dream? Her desk was suspiciously clear of work. The other desks in the office sat vacant. That was not terribly unusual, but it was eerie waking to find oneself alone. Especially when it was obvious someone had been there recently. My desk should not be clean. It was, in fact, cleaner than it had been in a very long time. Since she had started working down here – a fact that was not lost on her. “Phoebe! Just what do you call yourself doing here!” “Frank?” Her boss strode over to stand in front of her, arms across his chest. He glared down at her. “Just how in the blazes did you get in here?” “I work here.” Or she had. So far, this was turning into a true nightmare. “You disappear for weeks and don’t bother saying a word about it, after I stuck my neck out to save your job for you! And then you have the nerve to come back! Get your things and get out of here!” “But—”
“Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t care why you didn’t come to work. You’re fired. You have three minutes to get your things and get out of my building before I call the cops.” Frank stormed away, huffing and muttering under his breath about the rudeness of editors and the audacity of women in particular. Phoebe felt like crying. There she had just had the most dreadful fight with Nolan and now— “Nolan!” She made a quick search of the draws of her desk, finding only a few personal items and the key to her apartment. There was nothing there that mattered overmuch to her in her panicked state. The book, like her purse, was nowhere to be found. Oh my god! No! She found that the books she had kept under her desk as her foot rest were gone, as well. The rejection bin! Oh please be there…. She begged every god she could think of under her breath as she raced to the bin to search it. Digging through, she found it about halfway down, stuffed in its S.A.S.E. with the writer’s sloppy handwriting scrawled across the front. She clutched the book to her chest, breathing a single sigh of relief. Nolan…. She found a small box beside the trashcan and put the book at the bottom before knocking her belongings on top. Frank was conveniently absent as she made her way out of the building for the last time. It wasn’t until after the long bus-ride home, until she had finally gotten inside her empty little apartment with her dead houseplants that the full magnitude of what had happened hit her. She was home. In the real world. “I was there. I have to have been there.” Time had passed. She could not have simply imagined or dreamed the whole thing. Which meant that Nolan was also real. And lost to her.
Phoebe sat on her tattered couch and sobbed hysterically until she fell asleep. When she woke, she was still in her apartment. No longer home. She couldn’t bring herself to think of it that way now. The whole thing was just so insane, but it had been real. She really had been there. And now that she was back, all she could think about was Nolan. Dumping out the contents of her box, she lifted out the battered envelope. Ripping open the S.A.S.E, she gingerly pulled out the book. “Rejected!” It was a perfectly beautiful story. It didn’t deserve a rejection letter! She wadded up the rejection letter and threw it across the room, pulling her legs under herself and setting in to read the book. As she started reading the beginning of the book, she felt every hair on her body stand on end. She almost threw it away in that moment. It was not the beginning she remembered reading. Instead, it was talking about her being at her desk. Her rejection of other books and her original reaction to ‘Phoebe’s Desire.’ How? How is this even possible? Who… what are you Nicole? How could she have possibly known any of these things about Phoebe? How did the book change? No explanation was forthcoming, but she had already known there was no way to explain any of the things that had happened to her. Magic maybe. Though Phoebe had never believed in magic. She reached the point at which she had originally been pulled inside. To her chagrin, she was not pulled in again. Phoebe felt a lump in her throat and let her tears flow, unwilling to hold them in anymore. “Oh Nolan. Nolan….” The book, she found, was every bit as ridiculous to read as it was to live through. It was absurd. The plot was filled with holes, loose ends were left dangling all over the place, but the historical inaccuracies no longer bothered her as much as they had.
When she reached the first section about Nolan, about how he had seen her, had wanted to protect her from the very start, she could not help crying again. Read like the romance it had been meant to be, instead of the bizarre dream she had thought it was, it was love at first sight. She reached the sex scene, and while it caused a blush to read it, she found it was also quite stimulating. It had been every bit as good for him as it had been for her. Always a big plus. Which only made her feel worse. He loved me. He loved me, too, and I said such horrible things to him! She finally got to the point in the book where she disappeared. ‘Nolan stood in shock. “Phoebe? Oh my god no! Phoebe!” She was gone! One minute she had been there, the next she was gone. Disappeared. “Phoebe! I’m sorry! I did not mean it. Please…” He fell to his knees as the tears that stung his eyes burst forth. “please… I love you Phoebe. Don’t go…. All I ever desired….” She could hardly swallow past the lump that formed in her throat. ‘Nolan cried out in despair, but Phoebe was gone like a dream in waking. “Phoebe… I never meant to hurt you… please come back. I don’t want revenge. I used to, but I don’t any more. All I desire is you…. No one else.” He got slowly to his feet and wiped the tears from his eyes.’ Oh Nolan. I love you too. “All I desire is you.” Dropping the last pages of the manuscript to the floor, Phoebe covered her face and wept. A moment later she felt arms slide around her back as she was crushed against a hardened chest. “Phoebe! Oh thank God you came back!” She threw her arms around Nolan’s neck, in more than a little shock. “Nolan! How…?”
“I love you Phoebe. I always have.” He pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. It did not matter to her how she had come to return to him. All that mattered was that she had. Nolan fell to his knees, taking her small hand in his. “Phoebe… would you do me the honor of being my wife?” She smiled down at him, nodding her consent. “Of course my love.”
The End
Nicole was not terribly surprised to find a S.A.S.E. on her door stoop. It had her own handwriting scrawled across the front. What did surprise her was that it had obviously been torn opened once before. Another rejection. The only question was, which book had been rejected this time? Taking it inside and sitting down at her kitchen table, she opened the package and pulled out the manuscript. ‘Phoebe’s Desire.’ She laughed out-loud. “That one, huh?” Nicole held the envelope up and shook it, causing a single sheet of paper to fall onto the table. ‘Dear Ms. Ash, we regret to inform you—‘ “I’m sure you do.” ‘The police returned this manuscript to us after having found it in the empty apartment of one of our former editors.’
She chuckled to herself. “I bet it was!” ‘Unfortunately, it had already been rejected due to inconsistencies in the time line and plot holes.’ “Ouch! Don’t hold back or anything.” She smiled as she finished the letter. One down, several hundred to go. Reject my work will ya? She stood, walked over to her computer and pulled up a list of editor’s names. “Let’s see who’s next here….” After a quick search and replace, she printed out another copy of her book, entitled ‘Andrea’s Desire.’ Shoving it into an envelope, along with a new S.A.S.E., she addressed it to New Concepts Publishing, happily trotting outside and tossing it into her mailbox. “Let’s see how you deal with this story.”
The End
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