by Kitty Curran
“You may be much bolder, girl.” He places your trembling hand on his manhood, which has grown as stiff as the eldritch garden’s wrought-iron gate.
Do you give in to your hopeless, wild passion right there in the garden? Turn to this page.
Or do you run to preserve your purity, if only for a moment more? Turn to this page.
“Lord Craven is lounging languidly against a broken pair of angel’s wings, his eyes and hair wild, a brandy snifter in one hand.”
“You, sir, have crossed a line,” you say, each word icy enough to cause severe frostbite. “Farewell.”
And with that, you turn on your heel. You really do look wonderful turning on your heel.
“You are right. Forgive me,” Benedict cries as you charge away, but it is too late. You stride purposefully down the hall and refuse to look back.
He is just a man, just a foolish man…so why is it you cannot get him out of your mind?
Lady Evangeline immediately discerns that something is amiss as you stomp to her carriage.
“Are you quite all right, my dear?”
“I am wonderful,” you snarl. “Your cousin is a fool, but I myself am splendid.”
“Oh, dear,” she sighs. “I take it he overstepped the mark?”
“You could say that.”
Lady Evangeline sighs again.
“I do understand your frustration, my dear, but truly he is the kindest of my cousins, once you get past that layer of sardonic brooding.”
You glare at her.
“It is a very thick layer at times,” she admits. “But before you set my carriage on fire with your anger—and please understand that I have no objection if you do; I could do with a new one. Still, I must ask…are you quite sure you wish to continue?”
You turn and stare at her, wide eyed. Well, are you?
Do you wish to press on ahead and save Benedict’s skin? There is still a mystery to be solved…and perhaps you still cannot stop thinking about his manly form and tousled locks. If so, turn to this page.
Or do you want to be done with all this nonsense and choose a new path for yourself? If so, turn to this page.
You are torn from your camel and your blindfold is yanked off. Fabien’s harsh hands linger tenderly for a telltale moment at the nape of your neck. You brush off a twinge of guilt as you squint in the blindingly bright sunshine. A soft, throaty, seductive voice that you do not recognize accosts your ears.
“So there you are. La petite anglaise. My rival.” Every syllable of this short speech is laced with bitterest poison.
Your vision settles, and finally you are able to clearly see the woman standing before you. You let out an involuntary gasp. You had expected great beauty, but Delphine’s exquisite looks surpass even that. Her dark, silky hair is piled carelessly atop her head in a way that is both effortless and alluring. It contrasts beautifully with her milky skin, still moonglow-pale despite the sun. But it is her face that captivates you most—the delicate features combined with the sharp angles of her cheekbones, and she possesses the most arresting eyes you have ever seen. Queens are called to mind, and goddesses, as well as the snake that provides the sweet relief of death after a doomed journey in an endless desert. In short, Madame St. Croix is breathtaking.
As Fabien holds you aloft like a sacrifice to a false god, Delphine grabs your face and pulls it toward hers, a mask of eerie perfection. She inspects your mere mortal visage, tilting it to and fro, her perfectly oval nails digging half-moons into your cheeks. Her spectacular eyes, catlike in shape and angle, are so dark they look to be almost entirely pupil. If Fabien’s eyes are the green of the Nile, hers are the black-red of the Nile turned to blood. She bores these eyes into yours.
“You are pretty in a common way,” she sneers. “I am surprised someone so simple has gained her favor this time. I was expecting a woman of exceptional beauty.” Delphine speaks coolly, but makes no effort to conceal the old wound of her sadness. “I was her favorite once, you know.”
Joy somehow sings in your heart. Could it be true? Could the lovely and exciting Lady Evangeline think of you as her favorite? More favorite than this strange, terrifying, extraordinary creature holding you hostage by way of her own jealous rage? Before you can ponder this exciting idea further, Delphine continues. “Mon Dieu, I can remember the first time we met. She was the bored, much younger wife of an old diplomat. So lovely. Her husband had no interest in the fairer sex. She married him knowing that, by the way, knowing that he would not disturb her. And yet, when it came down to it—”
You hold your tongue, rapt in fascination as Delphine continues her tale.
“I made a mistake. A mistake I was sorry for, one that I would have forgiven her for were the tables turned. I would have forgiven her for anything. And yet my pleas, my love, it was not enough. She sided with her husband, the man she married for convenience, over moi.”
Delphine casts a scrutinizing gaze over you once more, her unearthly eyes shadowed with a raw pain that almost makes you feel sorry for her.
“I have tried so many times across the years to speak with her, but she is cold—cold like all you English. But still, I needed her so that I could be happy again, so we could—mais non, so we can—complete our life’s mission.”
You suddenly realize what she is thinking.
“You want to raise the lost Temple of Hathor from the desert!” you exclaim. Delphine’s eyes flash black fire.
“Perhaps you are not quite as simple as you look. Yes, ma petite, I plan to raise the temple. But for that to happen, the legend states that two lovers must enjoy love’s purest joy within its grounds. And there is no one I love apart from Evangeline! And despite her passing interest in you, I know in le cœur de mon cœur, there is no one on this mortal plane she loves more than MOI!”
To punctuate her near-fatal love for Evangeline, Delphine snaps at the tip of your nose. The bite is gentle enough, and although she does not draw blood or break skin, you feel shaken to your core. Fabien rips you from her grasp—protectively, you think. Despite yourself, you tremble in his strong arms. Delphine throws her gorgeous head back and laughs like a jackal.
“Of course, after all my years of trying to follow her and being blocked by this parry or that feint, all I needed to do was let her follow my bread crumbs. All I needed was to set a trap of irresistible intrigue. I would not need to chase her. She would come to me.”
“The turquoise canister!” you gasp. Breaking out of her reverie, Delphine cuts her eyes at you as if remembering you are still present. You detect that she sees Lady Evangeline the way someone near death would see a mirage on the horizon. It is the only thing she can see. It is the only thing she will see. Perhaps that sight has gotten her through hell.
“All I needed to do to see my love again was to set a simple trap, then take away her latest toy. Because that is all you are—and all you will ever be. It is all anyone can be to her!”
Delphine lunges for you at the same time that Fabien draws you back, and impossibly close to his legendarily muscled body, at the same time that a cut-glass voice trills out across the desert.
“I wouldn’t go as far as saying that.”
Your heart swells. “Evangeline!”
“Evangeline!” Delphine whispers, her eyes wide in savage longing and wonder.
“The very same,” drawls Lady Evangeline as she steps out from behind one of the tents that make up Delphine’s campsite. You thrill to see that she is now clad in breeches that show off every contour of her shapely form, along with a loose white shirt unbuttoned shockingly low. She flips you a roguish wink.
“How are you faring, my dear?”
“Marvelously!” you say. And you are not lying.
“Splendid,” she says. “I would expect nothing less.”
Lady Evangeline turns to Delphine, who has remained speechless since her former lover revealed hers
elf. “Hello, Delphine. Hello…and goodbye.”
Lady Evangeline pulls out her gold pistol and aims it directly at Delphine. Her bright eyes smolder like precious gems pulled from the inferno.
“Ready, aim, fire,” Delphine says, a cool smile playing across her lips.
“Don’t think I wouldn’t,” Lady Evangeline snaps.
“I don’t doubt it,” counters Delphine, pulling open her dress so Evangeline may aim truer. It also has the added side effect of exposing her magnificent bosom. You blush at the sight.
Delphine drinks in the glory of Lady Evangeline, smiling more like a woman in bed with her true love than a woman facing her end. “You could not hurt me any more than you already have. In fact, death will come as a relief.”
To your horror, rather than backing down, Lady Evangeline slowly cocks her pistol. “Is that so, darling?”
You can’t be certain, but some part of you wonders if some part of Lady Evangeline is enjoying this. Fabien’s grip tightens protectively on your shoulders, almost imperceptibly slipping the sleeves of your dress down to expose your shoulders.
Things are getting entirely too hot in this desert.
It is clear that cooler heads, namely yours, will need to prevail. But how exactly do you intend to do that?
Do you demand that Delphine and Lady Evangeline work things out sensibly? Right now, before homicide occurs? If so, turn to this page.
Or do you call out Delphine on her vicious abuse? You have every sympathy for her broken heart, but once you cross the line into kidnapping and nose-biting, there’s really no turning back. If so, on to this page.
“Lady Evangeline pulls out her gold pistol and aims it directly at Delphine. Her bright eyes smolder like precious gems pulled from the inferno.”
You rush to the safety of your bedchamber and slam the door, your heart racing and your breath coming in shallow pants.
You can run, but you cannot hide…from desire. There is a knock at the door, and as you open it gingerly, every particle of you trembling in fear, Master Craven crashes in, his clothes in tatters, bleeding from his well-muscled chest.
Of course you have to tend to his wounds…and perhaps a few other things, too. Turn to this page and get ready to kiss your purity goodbye!
“We have raised the temple,” you say to Lady Evangeline before exploring the soft palace of her mouth with a tender, tantalizing kiss. “But my temperature is rising now. Let us study each other and then study all the temple has to offer, inside and out.”
“There are great archaeological discoveries to be made, topographies to explore,” she agrees, flushing with desire.
“Oral histories to be given,” you say.
“And received.” Lady Evangeline arches a mischievous brow.
“Again and again.” You are aflame with ideas, plans, and realms of research for this new and fruitful partnership. “Farewell, lady pirates!” you cry to the whooping lot of new friends. “You are fearsome, and admirable, and we shall all do this again sometime!”
Together, you and Lady Evangeline burst into the impossible temple, laughing and tearing at each other all the way. It is surely full of many wonders. You can’t get deep inside fast enough. There are so many discoveries to be made, and you plan to make at least ten more tonight.
The End
“We must go, my love!” you cry to the groaning Lord Craven. He rolls off you, throws on a robe, and accompanies you to locate the source of the banging.
Before you find it, however, you hear Master Alexander scream as if pursued by the hounds of hell. You turn to Craven, your eyes wide in horror, and you both race to the child’s aid. As you round the corner, you find yourselves faced with something far more frightening than any hellhound.
Alexander is cowering in the corner, clutching a stuffed toy, tears of fright streaming down his young face. In front of him—glowing with the unearthly light of hellfire—is his mother!
The apparition turns to you with dead black eyes, her lovely mouth arrested in a terrifying rictus grin. “You have taken my place!” hisses the ghoul. “But not for long! I shall take you! I shall take you all! Back with me…to hell!”
“No, you bloody well won’t!” cries a reassuringly broad Yorkshire voice. There, barreling down the hall with a cross around her neck and a bible in her only hand, is Mrs. Butts.
“Out the way, love!” she cries to you. While you and Craven stare, gobsmacked, Mrs. Butts raises the Good Book high above her head. “Don’t worry, loves, I’ve done this before! How do you think I lost my arm and earned these scars?”
The phantom Lady Craven starts floating toward you, uttering strange guttural noises that belong to no human language, death dancing in her eyes.
“Get out, demon!” screams Mrs. Butts as she flicks holy water from a canister hanging at her hip. “The power of Christ—” Suddenly she is silenced, thrown across the room with a wave of the creature’s hand.
While Mrs. Butts groans from a corner, the ghost laughs in triumph before turning on Lord Craven. “My love!” she hisses. “My dear husband! You will come with me! You will suffer for all eternity, too!”
You throw yourself in front of him. “Not while I’m here!” You grab Mrs. Butt’s bible and cross and thrust them at the ghost of Lady Craven. “You will have to take me! Take me instead and leave this family, for I love them and there is not a thing I would not do to protect them!”
The specter reaches for you, but as she does, her hand starts to melt. “What is this?” she shrieks. “What is happening?!” A beam of white light bursts through her and fills the room, illuminating her many portraits in eerie blue fire before they crumble into dust.
The ghost of Lady Blanche Craven roils and twists in agony. “No! This cannot be!” Nevertheless, the light consumes her, exploding her spectral form into nothing. In her place lies a single red rose.
Alexander runs to you, and you and Lord Craven embrace him tightly, united as one loving family. “You saved us, miss!” he cries.
“I-I don’t understand,” you whisper into his hair as his father’s powerful arms encircle the two of you.
“I do, love,” says Mrs. Butts, pulling herself up to seated. “You were willing to sacrifice yourself because you love them. True love can conquer anything, including wicked lost souls from the depths who would destroy us. ’Tis the most powerful thing in th’ world.”
The sun rises, filling the room with pure, heaven-sent light. It is as if the deadly fever that consumed Hopesend has finally broken, and there is hope for life…and perhaps love. You turn to Lord Craven, astounded. His green eyes are clouded with tears and pure passion. He kisses you ferociously, as if you were not only his love but also his salvation.
“Oh, my darling!” he cries. “You are not only my love, but also my salvation. You have rescued me entirely.”
“Are you going to be my new mama?” Alexander asks sweetly. Lord Craven looks at you with hope in his eyes.
“Of course, darling. Of course!”
And so begins the start of your new life as lady of the manor. You rechristen it Hopesbeginning.
The End
You raise a hand to Ollie’s face, tenderly yet regretfully. He looks down, knowing what you are about to say.
“I’m sorry, Ollie my darling,” you whisper. “But our time has passed. I think that in your deepest heart, you know it is true.” Ollie looks up at you, tears shining in his eyes.
“And, I daresay, you love another?” He nods toward Mac, who is skulking silently at the other side of the entrance hall, looking like a massive, bekilted oak tree plagued with melancholy. You know not what to say. Ollie smiles wryly.
“He is a lucky man. Have a care, my darling. Be well.”
“You, too,” you say. He nods, and you see him to the door. He mounts his horse and rides off into the sunset, presumably to be the hero of his own thrilling series
of books.
You look after him wistfully. Your chapter with Ollie may be closed, but the story of the rest of your life is only just beginning. You walk back into the house and into the arms of Mac—your hulking, ginger paramour slash fellow orphan educator. He looks at you with love in his eyes.
“Are ye mine then, my love?” he says. “Will ye stay with me…for now and for all time?”
Well, will you?
If you opt for a tough but meaningful life helping orphans while having thrillingly adventuresome sex with a rugged Scotsman for the rest of your days, turn to this page.
But if, honestly, a life spent stuck in a crumbling castle, where your closest friend is a dog named Dodger, sounds less than fun and you just want to get out of here, turn to this page.
You give Cad a piece of your body—by slapping him across the face! He pauses for a moment, then turns to you bearing a viper’s smile.
“You like it rough, do you?” he snarls, grabbing your wrists and literally ripping your bodice.
“Get your filthy hands off me!” you snap back. You try to position your knee within manhood-striking distance.
Unfortunately, he notices what you’re doing and expertly pins you against a statue of Cupid, with your knees on either side of him, offering you no opportunity to inflict damage.
“Not so fast, sweeting. You won’t play that trick on me again.”
Desperately, you cast about for an escape route. The hard stone of the statue digs into you, but it is nothing compared to the hard stone of the man in front of you. Cad grabs your face with his free hand and forces you to look at him. He sneers, his cruel eyes flashing triumphant.