Many think the notion of a second chance at love is romantic. Are there betrayals so profound that a second chance is impossible? Could Emmy every give Robbie a second chance.
His Obsession (MF/Sensual/Regency) SirenBookStrand
The groaning hinges of his prison door roused Robert from his stupor. He winced when the heavy manacles that chained him to the cell wall rubbed against the festering wounds on his wrists and ankles. His body had withstood the vicious beatings of his tormentors, but he was ready to die. No one would tell him his crime, but it no longer mattered. He could not distinguish what was real from what he dreamed. Perhaps he would soon find the peace he craved and join Emmy in death.
Soft footsteps sounded in the hallway outside the cell that had been his personal hell for the past week. She entered his dark, stinking cell surrounded by the halo of her lantern’s meager light. Abundant golden curls framed the face that haunted his dreams. He savored her heart-shaped face with those magnificently high cheekbones, her skin the color of antique ivory, and those remarkable golden eyes. The soft, clinging fabric of the day dress in which his imagination clothed her suited her far better than the cumbersome panniers he remembered from their past.
"Emmy, my love, I knew you would come for me someday."
Raising the lantern high, she crossed the cell, keys clutched tightly in her hand. She frowned as she surveyed the damage to his face. He caught the scent of gardenias when she leaned closer.
"Robbie?" The keys dropped to the floor. "Robbie! You bastard!"
The crack of her palm against his bruised face jolted him awake. He threw back his head and squinted through eyes almost swollen shut to confront his attacker. In the pale light, Emmy wavered in his vision. What demon was tormenting him?
"What hell is this?" he groaned. "I buried you eight years ago."
She punched him in his bruised ribs. "You do not know what hell is until you have lived where you and your family sent me." She poked him in the chest with a manicured nail. "I would have been distraught if you had abandoned me in Paris, but I would have survived. Instead, you left me to go visit your ‘sick mother’ while your father rid you of an inconvenient lover."
She punched him again, but the pain no longer mattered. If he could trust his senses, Emmy was alive. Contrary to everything he had believed for eight years, she was standing before him, living and breathing. His overriding questions were how and why.
The chains rattled as he reached for her. She pulled back, avoiding his touch. He strained to reach her. If he could touch her, she would be real. Then, he would have a reason to live.
He could not understand her anger. Yes, he had left her in Paris to go to his mother’s bedside. But why had she followed him? Her corpse had washed ashore the following week, according to his father. Damn his father. He remembered his father’s comment at Emmy’s funeral about ruining plans. What could he have done? Almost anything.
"Emmy, I vow I was—am—ignorant of my father’s actions. I buried you with honor in our family cemetery and have mourned you every day since."
"Liar! Do I look like a corpse? Your father knew about my mother’s family—no one but you could have told him. You married within the month of my ‘death.’ You were drinking and whoring while I suffered abuse and humiliation."
Her tiny-fisted blows punctuated each accusation, but her anguish hurt him far more. Could he undo the damage of eight years?
"I told my father nothing. Tell me what happened after I left you in Paris."
"You persist in pretending you do not know?" She placed her fists on her hips, just as she had when she was aggravated at something when they lived in Paris.
"Please, Emmy." He dreaded the truth, but he had to know.
She sniffed then crossed her arms as though to protect herself. "Your father sent a note the day after you left Paris inviting me to your home. He lured my uncle Jacque and me onto his yacht. His men shot Jacque, clubbed him unconscious, then threw him overboard. We returned to the French coast, where your father delivered me to some of his French associates. They sailed to Bou Regreg with orders to sell me in the slave market at Rabat."
His anguish bit deep. His father had been capable of many things, but this? His sweet Emmy sold in a slave market? It made him ill to think of it. "And our baby?"
"It was a boy.” She bowed her head. “Babies do not survive long in the bagnio."
His head drooped to his chest. She must hate him and his family for what they had done to her.
He started when she caressed his arm and whispered, "Do not mourn him overmuch, Robbie. He would have been destined to be the catamite of a pervert or a eunuch in a harem. I would have wished neither of those fates on him."
Grief for all that he had lost consumed him. But she had escaped. "How did you come to be here?"
DO YOU THINK THE TWO OF THESE CAN MANAGE A SECOND CHANCE?
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"His Obsession" Siren BookStrand, April, 2012
"His Desire" Siren BookStrand, May, 2012
"Into the Lyon's Den" Champagne Books, August, 2012
“The Aegis” Champagne Books, April, 2013
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