ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories)

by Jane Prescott

  Eddie put his head in his hands. “My mother.” He heard Martha gasp, but he continued anyway. “She left me when I was 12. She said I looked too much like my father, and that I was too rebellious and would turn out like him. I already liked drinking and cutting school at that age, and I was too much for her. So one day she told me I was going on a trip, and she put me on a train to my uncle. I’ve been there ever since.” Eddie raised his head, holding back the tears threatening to fall. “And she was right. I know it.”

  “You don’t,” Martha said fiercely. “And your uncle doesn’t believe it either. He knows you’re a good man who just needs a chance, and someone strong to help you. I can be that person.” Martha spoke carefully, but with force behind every word. “I am that person. Let me be your wife, Eddie.” She gazed at him, urging him to speak. Again, Eddie felt the urge to accept…and couldn’t. Yet.

  “Give me one night,” he said instead. “One night to think about it.”

  Martha stared at him. “Okay,” she said sourly. “On one condition.”

  An hour later, Eddie lay in the plus bed, waiting for Martha to finish pulling on her dressing gown and join him. He’d resisted as hard as he could---which wasn’t very hard, it turned out---but Martha had won in the end.

  “We’ll see if we’re really comfortable,” she said. “And I’m tired of sleeping alone. It’s very cold at night. Are you really going to make me freeze?”

  So he had relented, and now he was staring at his ceiling in the darkness as the sound of Martha’s quick footsteps came down the hall. The door creaked open, and he saw that she had her hair braided again. Her gown was a deep green, and it made her eyes pop like gemstones. She blew out the candle in her hand as she approached, and Eddie held his breath as she pulled back the covers and slipped next to him. He expected her to get comfortable on her own, but she moved until her head found his chest and rested her cheek there.

  “Your heart is beating so fast,” she whispered.

  “I know,” he replied. “I can hear it in my ears.”

  Martha laughed and pulled his arm around her waist. His body flooded with heat, and he fought to keep his thoghts clean; the curve of her body was soft and warm that he found himself imagining running his hands further down her body until they lifted her gown to find bare skin. Eddie tried to think of anything else: boats, paint rollers, stray cats---but everything brought him back to her. He wondered if she was having this much trouble, and nearly asked, before he realized her breathing had already evened out: she was sleeping.

  Wow, so fast, he thought. Is she that comfortable with me already?

  Soon after, however, he’d closed his eyes and was drifting off as well, the smell of cinnamon on his mind.

  He dreamt of the train station in his old hometown. He was smaller, and his mother was backing away from him on the platform. A crowd surged around him, swallowing her figure and carrying her away, and he cried out and stretched his hands forward, but she didn’t reach back. Her face was unmoving, and he finally lost track of her as she was overtaken by foreign bodies. He tried to call out her name, but he couldn’t remember it, and this stirred his panic more; he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he shrieked as he turned around. Eddie realized that he was gazing down at the person, not up---then he saw that it was Martha. She was glowing, and her hair floated around her like a red sea. She held out her hand and caught his, and immediately his panic was silenced. He gazed into her eyes, suddenly consumed with love and a sense of security. How was she doing this?

  “Pancakes,” she said, and Eddie was confused. Then he caught the scent of sweet batter, and he gasped as he was shaken awake. He blinked and opened his eyes, startled to find himself in bed with Martha smiling down at him. Was it morning already?

  “Hello,” she chuckled. She was holding a tray that was piled high with an array of breakfast foods: bacon, eggs, toast, and the pancakes he thought he’d dreamed. He sat up, gazing at Martha as though he’d never seen her before. Her smile faltered, and she took a step back, but he reached out and caught her wrist before she could move another step.

  “Martha,” he said hoarsely. “Say it again?”

  “Say what?” she asked, her face confused.

  “Are you going to leave me?” Eddie asked desperately. “Will you leave?” He needed to hear the words before he could bring himself to ask the question.

  “Never,” Martha said immediately. “I’m not going anywhere. And my answer will always be the same.” She smiled at him gently. “I’ve seen broken men, Eddie James. You’re not one of them. Bent, maybe, and a little bruised. But not broken. Not even a little.” She laughed. “Now, do you want to eat, or not?”

  “You’re happy here?” he pressed.

  “Yes,” Martha said, chuckling. “Are you?”

  Eddie realized he was. The tension had been dissipating all week, and he was down to a glass of beer a day. He hadn’t even missed his liquor, come to think of it. He looked at Martha, the decision forming in his mind. He nodded slowly.

  “Okay, so does that mean you’re ready to eat?” she asked, smiling indulgently.

  “Marry me,” Eddie said urgently. Martha’s smile faded, and she set the tray down on the table next to him. His heart sank; she’d changed her mind, then; how could she have change her mind? She sat next to him on the bed and looked at her hands while Eddie closed his eyes in shame.

  “Can we get married soon?” Martha asked quietly. “I’ve always wanted a spring wedding. If that’s alright.”

  Eddie took a moment to process her words, then grinned. “We can get married whenever you want.” He stood and pulled her roughly to her feet. Her brilliant green eyes locked on his, and she took a deep breath and tilted her face upward. Eddie bent forward instinctively, and the sweet smell of cinnamon hit him just before the taste did; a clap of thunder hit his brain as their lips met, and an exhilarating tingling sensation flooded his veins. Martha wrapped her arms around his neck as his hands encircled her waist and lifted her to him, and she cried out as her feet left the floor. He thought he felt the pounding of her heart, and he swore they were in unison. He let her back to the floor gently and stepped away, gazing at her as they both gasped for air.

  “Wow!” Martha said, laughing. “What was that for?”

  “Great night’s sleep,” Eddie answered. “Waking up to breakfast by a beautiful woman puts me in a good mood too.” He pulled her in for another kiss, and she moaned softly as he plunged his hands into her dark red hair. He pulled back and smiled, seeing her faze frozen in an expression of deliriousness happiness. “I’ve wanted to do that since you first smiled at me,” he said. “Once I knew you were an adult.”

  Martha laughed and swatted him playfully. “You should’ve. It would have been a much better start than knocking me over.” Her smile faded, and her eyes grew serious. “But Eddie…are you sure? I’m so happy if you are, but I don’t want you to change your mind in a week. I need you to tell me why you’re sure.”

  Eddie nodded, grasping for the right words. “It’s a feeling,” he said after a moment. “It’s like you said before, everything has a solution. You taught me a new way of seeing, and it just changed everything. My heart’s been so black all this time, I thought it was rotten…but it just needed a new coat of paint.”

  Martha grinned. “My, that’s beautiful. Are you writing your vows as we speak, Mr. Poet?”

  Eddie laughed and kissed her again, but she broke away early.

  “Before I forget,” she said breathlessly. “I wanted to say…you taught me something, too. When I got here, I was expecting some mess of a man that I’d need to fix or nurse back to health. But you’re already so strong…” she shook her head, her eyes full of wonder. “You’re adding color to my life, Eddie James. You painted my heart, too.”

  Eddie’s lips were sore by the time they got to breakfast, and by the end of the day, his cheeks hurt from smiling. He wrote a letter to his uncle, picturing the look of joy and simultaneous disb
elief that would overtake him when he read the news. They joined Evan and Cheryl for dinner that evening, and Eddie’s heart melted when he saw how sweetly Martha interacted with the children. Evan was watching him through the night, and before they left, he pulled Eddie aside.

  “She’s really something, huh?” Evan asked, nudging Eddie conspiratorially. “You look like a new man! Better color, eyes not as puffy…you even look like you’ve been eating better. You guys gonna have kids?”

  Eddie looked at Martha as she said goodbye to the babies, who were already wailing for her return. “Maybe,” he said, smiling broadly as she stood and walked toward him. He thought about what she’d said---you painted my heart, too. Eddie thought he would die if it were true; Martha’s beauty was so pure and lovely, he knew he had no part in it. But he liked that she insisted that he did. She was a work of art, and he was just starting to appreciate her masterstrokes. Eddie knew he was lucky to even be in her presence. She grinned at him and took his hand as the left. The colors of the sunset in front of him reminded him of her hair, and he wondered if he could replicate it with a brush. She saw his far-away look and smiled.

  “What are you thinking about?” she teased.

  Eddie smiled and squeezed her hand as he answered. “My muse.”

  THE END

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  The Billionaire’s Secret

  Chris nodded and smiled. It was when I noticed the little dimple on the side of his mouth that my brain totally and completely froze. I almost missed what he said next. “Glad to hear it. I hope to read some of your work soon. I’m running quality control there, and I hope to get a sample of what everyone here has to offer. Oh, and Andrea?”

  “Yes?”

  “Call me Chris.”

  * * *

  Nothing beats a quiet night in with your favorite workspace. My studio apartment has five large windows that go from my midsection up, and in the evenings, the twilight fills my room. My laptop screen glows a faint blue on the heavy oak desk that stands in front of window number two. I set the steaming mug of hot chocolate down on a coaster that says “Bob’s Café” beside it and settle down into the soft cushion of my swivel chair. This is one of my favorite things to do, to take a long, hot shower, settle into my soft pink jammies, and to finish up whatever story has got my interest at the moment at work. They say that work and play don’t mix, but not when you do what I do.

  I take a sip of the chocolate; it is the perfect temperature and a deliciously silky texture. I look at my screen and scroll up a few pages to see where the storyline was taking me. I was fresh in, and I was loving this one. It follows a young woman on the search for her father, a captain of the royal guard who was set sail for Spain from England on a mission for the queen. He was not heard from again, and she sets out to find him, except that because she is a young, buxom woman on her own, she cannot do this independently. Throw in a little cross-dressing element and a royal letter of recommendation stolen from her brother’s lockbox and you’ve got an adventure. The problem is, the ship she is on is wrecked, but she is saved. When she comes to, she realizes her saviours are actually pirates and that she is now chained and enslaved aboard it.

  Terrified of her fate—for what else can it be but ship whore—she refuses to be amenable to anyone’s care, until she realizes that nobody is touching her. I have just gotten up to the point where she realizes that she’s not going to be passed around the ship’s crew like a tool for use because the ship’s captain is quite taken with her. I set down the cup, rub my hands together, and begin to type.

  Standing above her, he cut an imposing figure. Easily over six feet tall, through his breeches, she could tell that his thighs were sturdy and well-muscled despite his leanness. Why that elicited a shiver in her, Meg did not know, and she pushed it down where she could pay it no mind. My, but he was handsome! That cleft in his chin, the color of his eyes dark blue and stormy like the sea that was pitching and tossing the boat as if it were made of little more than kindling.

  “If you like me,” Meg said through clenched teeth, the iron of the cuffs binding her to the board behind the silken chair chafing at her delicate wrists, “why not just take me?”

  Captain Edwin sat down at the ottoman by her feet. He leaned his face against the hand that was propped up on his knee, and the way he looked at her face made Meg blush, a heat spreading all the way down her chemise, unfamiliar but not wholly unpleasant. When he spoke, his voice was a little gravelly, rasping against her auditory senses like rough silk.

  “The thing is, Meg, I never take a woman against her will. I know, I know, it seems to be against the life we lead here aboard the ship, but there’s just something that doesn’t set well with me about forcin’ a woman to take a man like that. That’s not what I have planned for us.”

  “What do you have planned for us?” she asks, not sure she’s ready to hear the answer, especially when Edwin’s face breaks out into a small smile and he gets up to reach the table behind him. He lifts up a long, dark piece of cotton cloth and when he approaches Meg, she rears back in her seat as if he’s about to scald her. As he ties the cotton cloth over her eyes, she kicks out and tries to bite him, but the deed is soon done.

  “You nefarious twit!” she cries, trying to scratch him, but restrained by the cuffs. The space around her suddenly becomes filled with Edwin’s presence and she can barely breathe. Say what you like about the pirating kind, but Edwin smelled of musk and soap, a scent delicious enough to make Meg swallow hard. The beating of her heart intensified as she felt Edwin place a light hand on her ankle, beneath her skirts. “Wh-what are you doing?”

  She heard a small chuckle at her ear and realized that Edwin was drawing his lips near her neck, brushing against her with such precision that when he spoke, his breath tickled the fine hairs on that particular part of her anatomy, causing a kind of aching feeling in her belly. “I plan to make you want me, Meg. I plan to tantalize your senses until you not only do not fear me, but beg for my touch, over and over again. And when I give it to you, you’re going to ask me never to stop.”

  And with that, he tied the cotton cloth over her eyes, blocking her view entirely from light or the room. Thrown into complete sensory deprivation, Meg felt a sharp shiver of fear climb its way up her spine even as a pair of soft, warm lips settled down on her neck. The ache in her belly intensified as Edwin teased her neck first with his mouth, then nipped with his teeth, so lightly that a tingle began to spread, first to her collarbone, then her breasts. She felt herself being gathered into a pair of strong arms and with a wild adjustment of positions, she was suddenly settled into a warm lap, her wrists restrained by her sides. Suddenly, Meg understood what was happening, and it awakened something primal inside of her, a fear she could not control. It was a good thing she was being restrained, because she began to struggle.

  The more she struggled, the tighter the grip on her wrists became. And although she could not control what was happening to her, Meg found herself growing excited. Disgust filled her at this realization, even as Edwin tied her wrists to the arms of the chair with rope. For a moment, there was no movement, and then she felt the laces of her bodice becoming undone, slipping out of the holes one by one. She felt her chest heaving, slowly at first, and then faster and faster, and she could picture the white cream of it rising and falling by the candlelight in the room. She felt Edwin lean over her sho
ulder, felt the hard rock of his abdomen press against her back, felt herself bend at the waist as he leaned over and slid his hands up her gown, gathering the many skirts of her gown, bunching them in his fists.

  She felt her skin become exposed to the sudden brush of air as he slid her skirts higher and higher up her ankles, then past her knees and up her thighs. Never before had she felt so vulnerable, never before had she known herself to be so at the mercy of a man. She felt frozen at her core, terrified to move, terrified to speak, but there was something about the very wrongness of the situation that was causing her to feel alive, perhaps for the first time since her father had gone. The hands reached over her body and spread her legs apart, baring her sex to the world. She heard Edwin’s breath in her ear grow more harried, and she could not believe that it was her that was causing this, she, who had never had any interaction with men at all. She felt like she was losing her mind.

  “Do you know what I see?” Edwin spoke in low tones in her ear.

  “Somebody helpless?” she spat, horrified that the image in her mind’s eye of him being able to see the very private parts of her by the clear lamplight made her feel so dirty and yet so good at the same time. She felt the palms of his hands smooth over her thighs, grazing them lightly at first, then turning into rougher strokes; he had the callused hands of a man who has spent his life at sea, and those calluses bumping against the smooth cream of her thighs felt incredible. His fingers danced like little spider legs towards her inner thighs, and then, much to her shame, he brushed the hair between her legs, triggering the sensitive nerve endings at the other point of the hairs, eliciting a moan from Meg that she could not help, that she hated herself for allowing to escape.

  “No, Meg,” said Edwin, and to her shock, he swept a thumb over the very heart of her, the puckered folds swelling into a plumpness that she was not familiar with, but he was. “No, sweetheart, if you were so very helpless, you would not be wet.”