14 comments/ 66314 views/ 17 favorites By the Bay Ch. 01 By: KillerRomance Author's note: I know, I know. It's been a darn long while. But I'm still writing my ass of whenever I get the time! This is the newest story that I'm working on (amongst countless others). It's different, yes, but I hope you'll give it a chance. Don't forget to rate and comment once you're done(: Thank you! © Lillian K. Rockmore Translations: Amma – Mother Akka – Sister Ma – endearment Anna – Brother Thatha – Grandfather Background: Temasek, olden-day Singapore, had been an 'official' colony of the British since 1819. Chapter One: Temasek, South-East Asia June, 1915 "Is Amma going to be all right?" Ameera, with all the innocence of a nine-year-old, asked as she poked her head through a slit in the cane door. She watched as her older sister calmly dabbed at their mother's sweating forehead, almost as if she were in a trance. Anita's cobalt-blue eyes were fixed on a spot in the corner of the room, but her hands were still swiping the wet cloth across mother's forehead. "Akka?" the little girl quipped again, and Anita started, having not heard her sister enter the small kampong house. She'd been so deep in thought... about their future, her sister's education, their mother. With a sigh, Anita folded the cloth and put it away. She gestured for Meera to meet her outside before sliding from the cot and padding over to a basin of fresh water. Sluicing the water over her arms and face, she made sure that her skin was clean of the disease her mother carried for she did not want to accidentally pass the illness on to her kid sister. When she finally went outside, she found Meera seated on the small expanse of a veranda, swinging her legs into the open space beneath the house. The young girl's golden-brown curls glowed in the evening light, making her seem like an angel. Anita could not help but smile at the thought as she tucked the ends of her sari securely against her midsection and joined her sister. Before them stretched the dirt road towards the Richards' household – the family that Anita and her mother had worked for, for over twelve years. The large, Victorian gates were sealed shut, secured with a padlock the size of Anita's fist, and the garden which used to be gloriously full of color, was now empty and brown. "Is Amma going to be all right?" the little girl asked again, her eyes not moving from the colonial house in the distance. "I hope so." "What's wrong with her? She's been sick since the Richards' left," Meera stated perceptively. Anita glanced at her sister, wondering yet again if the girl knew. Nothing in her relaxed countenance gave it away, but Anita had always had the feeling that somehow, her younger sister knew. As to the girl's question, Anita didn't know how to answer it. It would hurt Meera's feelings if she said that their mother didn't have any reason to live anymore, and wasn't fighting the disease; she was too young to understand the self-centeredness of the world. And yet, it was unfair to Meera if Anita were to lie to her. She kept silent for a long while, until Meera was forced to speak again. "Is she going to die?" There was no emotion behind the words; it was calm a statement. The girl looked undisturbed by the fact, and that chilled Anita. Granted, their mother had showed them little affection, but she'd made sure that they had at least one good meal everyday. That, at least, had to warrant some kind of warmth from Meera towards their mother. "She's very sick," Anita said, reaching out to play with the young girl's hair. They were pretty curls that twined themselves around her fingers. Anita's hair was drab in comparison. "Will she get better?" "If she wants to, she will." The girl seemed to expect the answer, and nodded solemnly. The wan expression on Meera's face would have been comical, were it not real. "Is she sick because John Richards left?" "Now, Meera -." "Is she?" "Meera -." "You can't keep this from me forever, Akka!" "I won't. You're too young to understand right now, ma. Please -." "I'm not too young. Tell me, please. I need to know." Anita took a deep breath, unnerved by the maturity she saw in the young girl's eyes. "Yes. She is sick because John Richards left." Meera nodded once, her fingers curling into fists. Her dark eyes lost their light, and she promptly crumpled into tears. "I didn't want you to ever know about this," Anita said as she gathered the girl into her arms. Meera's nose had turned red, and her tears were wetting the old cotton blouse that she wore. Guilt for telling her sister what should never have been told made Anita hug her sister tighter, cradling her against her shoulder. "I'm sorry, ma. I'm so sorry." "It's not your fault," Meera said, sniffling. "It's not ever your fault. You've done so much for me, more than she ever has. Why couldn't she have just told me?" "It's not something that our people take lightly. That's why we don't discuss it." Anita didn't even bother to deny that their mother had shown very little care for them over the years. She didn't want to lie to her sister any longer. "But she lied to me about my own father! How could she do that, 'Ka? How?" "I think she didn't want you to think badly about her." "That's not fair! Didn't she know that I'll figure it out when I look so different from the other children? Do you know that they call me half-breed?" Yes, Anita knew. And she'd threatened whoever she'd heard say it. In a way, Anita was blessed. Only her eyes and unusual freckles gave away the fact that she was not a full-blooded Indian. Her skin was dark, and she blended in with the others. Meera, however, had skin the color of golden biscuits and hair that was just a shade darker than her skin. Everyone around town knew whose bastard she was. And Anita had tried her best to protect her from hurtful comments... but obviously, she'd failed. "I wish, with all my heart, that you hadn't heard that." Meera's tears were drying, and she hiccupped once, twice, rubbing her reddened nose. Anita kissed the girl's forehead gingerly, wishing she could switch places with the girl. She did not like her sister feeling such pain. Young ones shouldn't be exposed to such ridicule. Meera swiped at her eyes and pulled herself away. She stared up at her older sister, seeing that tears had also run down her cheeks. She reached up and wiped them away, feeling gratitude like none other to her sister. Without her, Meera was not sure that her mother would have sent her to school or even remembered she was alive. She wished that she could repay her sister somehow. "Now," Anita said, clearing her throat. "Have you finished your homework?" "Yes. Mrs. Druberry asked us to read a book, but I've already read it, so I don't have homework." "All right. So where are you going?" Meera had loped off the veranda and was walking away from the house. "To Mae's house. Her dog gave birth to six puppies." Anita watched her sister walk away, her step not as light as it used to be. She sighed, leaning against the pillar of the veranda, enjoying the warm breeze as it played with her hair. Her eyelids drifted closed, both from the tiredness of having slept little the night before, and from crying. Her mother's illness, too, did not help lighten the burden on her shoulders. In her mind's eye she saw herself as she'd been yesterday, walking up to the medicine man and spending almost all the household's money on medicine for their mother. Then she envisioned the meager amount of rice and potato left in the kitchen. She sighed yet again, thanking whatever forces were at play that she'd at least paid Mrs. Druberry for the month. It was one worry less out of the handful that she already had. The five cents that was leftover for the month burned right through the pouch she'd tied it into with her sari. It reminded her that since the Richards had left, they had to find somewhere else to work – if her mother recovered enough to work at all. They did need to eat for the next month, and it would be almost impossible to make ends meet with only one woman's salary. She would have to talk to brother Raju and see if anyone was hiring a housekeeper or even a coolie worker. Perhaps if she worked for the generous British households again, she'd be able to save up enough money to send Meera to one of the elite schools when she turned twelve. Meera would love that, if only Anita could afford it. * The Indian Ocean, January 1924 War-roughened hands had a death grip on a gold-tipped pen, dotting an empty sheet of paper with frustrated, furiously-paced ink splotches. Edward James Haydes, Duke Shackleton of King George's court, groaned and rested his head on an upturned palm. Words were clogging his throat, a myriad of them, but they would not arrange themselves in the form of prose. Every word seemed mismatched, misplaced. Years and years before, when he'd produced writing of the finest quality, words had flowed from his pen as naturally as was breathing. Now, he couldn't even come up with a proper metaphor for the word 'war' after hours of musing. He was beginning to wonder if he'd ever written fiction before. Perhaps that had only been his imagination. Resignedly, he put the pen away and slid the paper into a drawer. He would try again later. Leaning back in his chair, he rested his hands on his chest and closed his eyes. Two days, the captain had said. Two days 'til they reached the port that he'd been longing to see for several years. It was the perfect place to forget propriety and immerse oneself in one's imagination. He would have no obligations, no appearances to keep up. He would have no stranger coming up to him and offering condolences for his loss, and no one asking him on his take on the war. All he had to do was relax in the balcony that overlooked the ocean and concentrate on his writing. Nothing could be more perfect. His drawn-out sigh of contentment nearly extinguished the fat candle that stood on the table. He smiled to no one in particular, thinking of the good days that lay ahead. There would be no more complications in his life, no more commitments. And then, possibly, he'd be able to stop dreaming of the screams of men writhing on the killing field with their limbs missing. * "Don't you ever touch me again, you low-down dog!" Enraged to the point of exerting bodily violence, Meera screamed at the lecherous man's wriggling body. He was on the floor, wailing loudly as he grabbed his appendage with both his hands. For good measure, Meera added another kick to his rear and considered revenge taken when he was reduced to whimpers. Men! She hated them. They were not to be trusted, and only wanted a woman for her body. They had no feelings, no emphatic emotions. They just assumed that if a woman was poor, that she'll spread her legs for them. Well, they were wrong! She turned away from the pathetic man, still seething as she walked home quickly for dinner. It was getting dark and she hoped she could reach home before full darkness fell. There wasn't telling how many of these kinds of men lay in wait for an unsuspecting female. She let out a long sigh as the small kampong house came into view. Anita was waiting outside, her hair bound in a loose bun, no doubt waiting for Meera. She'd have to apologize to her sister for being late. She'd just gotten caught up with writing, and with the town's main bell spoilt, it was hard to tell the time. She smiled when she realized that she'd gotten two chapters of her story written that day. She'd never written so much in a day before. The feeling of satisfaction was incredible, and even her brief encounter with the bastard could not stifle it. "Oh, heavens! What took you so long?" Anita breathed a sigh of relief as she finally caught sight of Meera trudging along the dirt road. "I was beginning to worry." "Sorry, 'Ka. Got caught up writing," Meera said in way of an apology. To that, Anita just rolled her eyes and told her that food was ready. "Mmm. Porridge and onions. I can't wait!" The younger girl regretted her words in the next second when her sister's eyes grew sad. "I didn't mean it that way, 'Ka. I was just funning around..." "No, no. It's ok. I get tired of it, too," Anita acknowledged with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "So how was school?" Meera shrugged. "All right, I suppose. Though I don't understand why I've to study math and science. I could live on English alone." "Really? I used to love English, too, until Thatha died and Amma took me out of school. I used to love reading the short stories they'll have in class, with those illustrations to help us understand." Meera stared at her sister as she poured the watery liquid of porridge into two bowls. She couldn't believe that Anita had sacrificed so much just to make her receive an education in a society that believed that women shouldn't be educated in the first place. She owed her sister more than she could repay her for. She didn't bother asking why Anita hadn't gone back to school. If she'd done so, there would have been no one to work for the family, especially since their mother had died five years ago. "Raju Anna said that there's a new British family coming over in a week. Do you know the old Shackleton house near the bay?" At Meera's nod, Anita continued. "They're opening it up again. Raju Anna thinks that they might be looking for some help, so I'll be going down there tomorrow. I think a job in that house might pay at least twice as much as carrying mounds of cement up and down four flights of stairs would." Meera felt a pang of guilt as Anita described her job. The only reason Anita worked such a grueling job was because of her. But it was no use telling Anita not to. She was set on seeing that Meera was able to stand on her own to feet. "That's great, 'Ka. Do you want me to come with you?" "No, no, that's all right. School's more important, ma." "Just thought that you might need a confidence boost," Meera said with a cheeky smile that brought out the tiny dimple on her chin. Anita sighed, thinking that Meera had become too beautiful for her own good. She attracted too much attention, and thus far, Anita had received three proposals of marriage for her sister. The girl had yet to be eighteen, for god's sake! She was the complete opposite of her sister, however. At twenty-three, she'd never had any man develop an interest in her. Maybe it was because in contrast to her sister, she was dark and ugly, with hair that was limp and straggly. If she had to put it bluntly, she was nothing standing next to her sister. But Anita didn't mind it. She was proud of her sister. After their meager but filling dinner, Meera retired to her side of the small room to thumb through a book she'd borrowed from Mrs. Druberry's library. Anita grabbed her sewing pouch and an old sari, and sat by her blanket, trying to repair the frays in the old cotton. After repairing the third split in the seam, Anita felt close to crying. She finally admitted to herself how important this next job would be to her. Working as a coolie wasn't what she wanted to do. She loved to serve tea and make sure that all the linens were clean. She didn't want to be stuck hefting five kilograms of sand and cement anymore. It was a torturous job, especially under the tropical sunlight. Anita took a deep breath, calming her nerves. She would not fall apart, not after so many years of being on her own. She had to be strong. It was for that reason that when she curled up on her blanket later that night, Anita offered a prayer up to the gods – for strength, and for luck. She feared she would need both. * "We need someone plain. Not ugly, but not very attractive either," Madam Ruth, former mistress of the infamous Lord Cain, told her right-hand-man. Madam Ruth ran an employment agency downtown, and a few days ago, had received news that the Duke of Shackleton was arriving in a weeks' time. She had been instructed to find appropriate help to run the house, and she bristled that she'd only been given a week to train them properly. She hoped she could find locals who could adapt quickly, else her firm's name would be in danger. "Why so, Madam?" Charles asked curiously. "Because, dear boy, from what the letter said, only the Duke is visiting the island. God knows what would happen should he have an exotic young thing running around in his household. We do not need to complicate the bloodline, do we?" She snapped her blood-red fan open and flicked it repeatedly to cool herself. "Of course not, Madam," Charles said agreeably, wondering if her explanation had stemmed from a past experience. "A plain young girl it will be." "Not too young, though," she warned again. "I'll be in the sitting room. Send the girls in if they meet the criteria." She turned away from him, only to stop and call over her shoulder: "Oh, and Charles, don't forget the tea." * The house was larger than the Richards'. Anita looked up at the looming white structure and counted nearly eight rooms on the second floor itself. There were many more on the first and third floors. If she was hired today, she'd have a lot of work in store for her before the Duke and his family came to visit. Drawing a shaky breath to quell the trembling of her tummy, she started up the short staircase to the first floor. This is it, she thought as she pushed the door open quietly. The next few minutes will determine my future. "Hello?" she called out skeptically. Perhaps she'd gotten the wrong house. "In here," a masculine voice called out. Anita pulled her sari around her more securely and followed the voice. A man was seated behind a small wooden table in the foyer, his eyes raking her shrewdly as she turned a corner and spotted him. He was very fair, with blonde hair and light blue eyes. She disliked him instantly. "Good morning, sir," she said quietly, averting her eyes so that she did not have to look at him. He didn't greet her, but asked for her name. "Anita, do you have an appointment with Madam Ruth?" She shook her head slowly. He sighed heavily. "Do you have any experience in housekeeping, at least?" "Yes, I do, sir," she said, not lifting her eyes. "I worked in the Richards household for over ten years." "Richards household? John Richards?" Charles rubbed his forehead in thought. What was it about John Richards that he'd heard about all those years ago? Anita nodded, keeping silent. The man thought for a very long time, staring at her all the while. She began to feel acutely uncomfortable. But before she could voice a question, he told her that she could go in to the sitting room for an interview with Madam Ruth. Anita gratefully moved away from the man's view, leaving behind his probing eyes. She was suddenly nervous again as she saw a woman reclining in the sitting room, an empty teacup in front of her. Gingerly, she knocked on the door before stepping in. The woman's blonde head turned towards her, her large eyes raking her from head to foot, just as the man had done. But this woman smiled at her, and asked her to take a seat on the padded chair opposite her. "Come, sit, my dear. Don't hover near the doorway. It's unseemly. Now, I take it that you've prior experience in housekeeping? Charles would not have sent you to see me if you had none." Anita nodded, for she had nothing to add to the lady's statement. The next few minutes were spent on discussing the duties Anita had fulfilled in the Richards' house. The lady seemed impressed with the amount of work she'd done, and the experience she had. To test her knowledge, the Madam began to ask her specific questions like 'how much soap should be used to wash one bucket of clothes' or 'how many times a week should linen be washed'. Anita answered the questions as best as she could, feeling sweat pool at the base of her sari blouse. She was so nervous that her hands were trembling. What if she answered the questions wrongly? What if she couldn't impress the lady? By the Bay Ch. 01 "You've a good grasp on what the household needs, dear," the Madam commented, leaning back against the settee that she'd been sitting on. With a flick of her wrist, she asked Anita to pour the tea. Too nervous but to do so, Anita leaned forward and poured the tea as quickly as possible. Luck was on her side, for not a drop spilled, and she hastily hid her trembling hands in the folds of her sari. Madam Ruth raised an eyebrow, impressed with the girl's skill. She was almost too perfect, after all the other unqualified maids she'd interviewed before her. But Madam could tell that the girl clearly knew what she was talking about. And she wasn't all that pretty, either. "If I gave you the job, would you be willing to take residence here, at the servant's quarters? The Duke did not specify if he wanted you to stay throughout the day, but there is a servant's quarters next to the kitchen. Would you be able to adjust to that?" Oh dear, Anita thought. What about Meera? "Actually, Madam, I live with my younger sister and I can't possibly leave her alone at our house..." "There are three rooms for the servants, child, and I am only hiring two maids. Your sister may take the third room if she wishes to, as long as she does not appear before the Duke and enters the house through the back gate." "I – I think that would be fine," Anita murmured, hoping that Meera would be all right with the new arrangement. She did not want to lose this job because she didn't want to work throughout the day; she was perfectly willing to. "It's settled then, dearie. Come back tomorrow at this time and we'll put you to the test." "Thank you very much, Madam," Anita gave the woman a quick smile and exited the room. It didn't hit her until she stepped out of the house. She'd been so nervous in there that she had not realized that working in this house meant that she would not have to carry another heavy weight ever again! Her joy was incredible, and she laughed to herself as she walked away from the house, looking back from time to time just to check if it was still there. * When Anita broke the news to her sister that evening, Meera was excited. A new environment could help with her writing, she said. And she wouldn't complain about staying in a colonial house; it was much better than their small one-room house. Anita had to agree with her sister on that account, and was almost grateful to have a new place to rest her head. Early the next day, Anita and Meera gathered their things, locked up the old house and made the half an hour walk to the big house. Meera was accordingly impressed, and she let out a low whistle when the house came into view. "This is one huge house, 'Ka," she said as they climbed the short flight of stairs in front of the house. Anita didn't have trouble finding the servant's quarters, and after setting all their belongings in the hallway, she told Meera to leave before school started. Meera asked if she would be all right alone before pulling her books out of her bag and heading out the back way. She explored the servant's quarters for a while, noting that they were sparsely but tastefully decorated. Every room had a color code, and the sheets and cupboards would match that color. She particularly liked the room in royal blue, with its contrasting white sheets and white cupboard. It was a pretty room, one she would never have imagined herself living in. She hoped she'd be able to have that room. Madam Ruth came in an hour later, after Anita had already familiarized herself with the house. She heard Madam scolding Charles about not locking the door before leaving yesterday as she climbed down the stairs. "Madam," she said quietly to gain the woman's attention. Madam Ruth turned swiftly to stare at her before launching into another tirade. You see, she said. "See what could've happened because you were irresponsible enough not to lock the door! If it were anyone else, god knows... I want you to check this house and see if anything has been taken." Then her gaze focused on Anita. "And you, did you take anything from the house?" Anita quickly shook her head. "How long have you been here?" "About an hour." "And you just entered the house?" "The door was unlocked, Madam. And I do work for this house now, do I not?" "Yes, dear, you do. But next time, try to stay on the first floor. What were you doing up there anyway?" Disgruntled, Madam moved towards the kitchen. "I was looking at the rooms, Madam. The room at the corner of the house has a great view from the balcony." "Ah, yes. That it does. Have you chosen your room?" "Y-yes, Madam. Could I have the blue one?" "Frankly, child, I do not really care which room you take, as long as you leave one for the other maid. Where is she, by the way?" "I don't know. I heard no one come in after me." She heard Madam mutter something along the lines of useless men. "Fine, then. We'll begin first. Put your bags in your room and meet me in the kitchen." * By the end of the week, Anita was exhausted. There were twelve bedrooms in the rooms, two sitting rooms, a kitchen and a dining room. Between Nanthini, the other maid, and herself, cleaning the rooms and preparing meals for Madam Ruth and Charles sapped their strength. On Friday, she was beyond glad that Madam had given them the Saturday off to rest. She toweled her hair dry as she exited the servant's bath, running through a list of things that she had to do tomorrow. She had to run by Mrs. Druberry's office and pay the teacher with the money her previous employer had given her for the time she'd worked for him. Then she had to press the dress that she would be wearing in front of the Duke. After that... A peculiar scratching noise caught her attention and she padded to her sister's room to check if Meera was all right. Her sister was sleeping, and there was no light in Nanthini's room. Instantly alert, she crept from the servant's quarters, grabbing a wooden spoon from the kitchen for good measure, and tried to identify the source of the noise. She didn't try to light a candle, for it would alert whoever was out there that they were being tracked. After a good deal of scratching, there was a shoving noise, like someone was pulling a window up. A gust of cool air brushed the hem of her sari and she turned to the direction which it came from. She froze, staring blankly at the open window as moonlight poured through it. She could've sworn that she'd closed it earlier that night. She stifled a scream as two hands settled on the window sill. A head, shoulder. Then a whole body rolled through. She didn't think twice about it. The wooden spoon was in her hand and he was just standing in front of the window, unmoving. She rushed forward and swung the spoon as hard as she could... * The Lady Anne docked in the port two hours before midnight. Its occupants stood at the railings, watching the soft waves slowly push the ship into its allocated area. Jay, however, was still in his cabin, looking for the keys he had taken from his late father's study. He had been so sure that he'd put them in the little compartment under his luggage, but they were not there now. Without his keys, he'd have to put up in a hotel for the night and find Madam Ruth Tatiana for a spare set of keys in the morning. How inconvenient the thought was, when he'd been looking forward to spending the night in the house by the bay. Cursing himself for being so careless, he slung his traveling bag over a shoulder and stepped out of his room just as the last passenger stepped off the ship. The wind rustled the loose-fitting white shirt that he'd haphazardly tucked into black pants as he walked across the ship as he made his way off the ship and onto the lined wooden planks of the port. Even late at night, the port was bustling with activity. Chinese middlemen cried their wares on one side of the dirt roads and stalls selling snacks lined the other. Intrigued by the smells, so foreign to him, Jay skirted the crowds and walked along the road, noticing that a fried type of ring-like bread was rather popular amongst the customers. When he reached the end of the road, he ordered two of that bread from the Indian woman behind the wooden stall. He watched in fascination as she flashed him a smile, and quickly washed her hands in a bucket of water before dipping the dough into a pot of hot oil. When they were done, she fished them out of the oil, placed them in a carry-on paper wrap and handed it to him. He placed a few coins in her hand, knowing that they accounted for more than the two pieces of bread, but he felt that she needed it more than he did anyway. He savored the crispiness of the freshly-fried bread and the spiciness of the green chili in the dough as he crossed the street to walk along the stalls selling everything but food. In one stall, he found a lady's dress, obviously worn before, but put up for sale. In another, a brassiere hung from a string tied between two sticks. He also found an old typewriter that still worked and decided to bargain with the stout Chinese man for its price. In the end, they settled for a price that was half of what he'd been willing to pay for the typewriter, and he smiled as he walked away from the stall, now looking for a hackney to bring him to a hotel. It was while he was waiting for a hackney that he realized that he didn't really need to put up in a hotel for the night, especially since it was the key to his own house that he'd lost. If he managed to climb into the house through a window, it wouldn't be breaking in, because he owned the place. And it would be more convenient than staying in a hotel. When a hackney finally rumbled to a halt in front of him, he instructed the driver to bring him to the Shackleton house on the bay. The driver was a friendly young fellow who engaged him in conversation about the island until the house came into view. He could make out its form even though it was the dead of night. It was just as he remembered – large, white and welcoming. He could smell the salt from the sea in the air, and hear the roar of the waves as they rolled across the sand. Tipping the driver, he opened the front gate and quickly climbed the front steps. The door was locked, as he'd expected. But he doubted that the windows would be. He climbed back down the stairs, and looked for the nearest window that was low enough for him to climb through. He finally found one at the side of the house, the kind that slid up and allowed enough space for a man to climb through. He tried to pry open the window, but the wood was too heavy for him to do it with his fingertips. Setting his bags down, he used one hand to steady himself and pushed the window open with the flat of his palm. The window slid open and he quickly lowered his things into the room before pulling himself into it as well. He doubted anything had changed over all those years. He could still see the living room in which his family had taken their meals when he'd been a boy. The white settee that his mother loved, the ancient radio on the set of drawers that held the silverware... A sudden movement caught his attention, and before he could even process the thought, he knew that something was about to hit his head. All he could see was a shadow, and the instinct garnered from the battlefields re-surfaced, making him lash out in time to catch hold of what he supposed was an arm. He twisted it until the weapon fell out of the intruder's hands, hearing his harsh breathing permeate the still night air. He moved the person back against his chest to hold him there, an arm coming up to close over the boy's throat. He assumed it was a boy because he couldn't be more than five feet, five inches in height. But as he pinned the boy's hand to his back, he could've sworn he touched soft flesh. Then a small whimper escaped the boy's lips, sounding all too much like a female. He leaned forward and took a whiff of him, and the scent of jasmine assaulted his senses. Damn. Definitely a woman. "Are there any more of you in here?" he asked, thinking that she'd broken into his home. "N-no. 'Tis just me," came the whispered reply. He let the woman's hand go and reached into his pocket for a lighter. As the small flame lit the room, he got a good look at the small figure that he was holding, his arm offensively draped across her neck. She was an Indian girl, fairly young and wrapped in a sari that was frayed in places. "Please don't steal anything," Anita tried to say, but his arm across her neck was making it difficult to breathe. "What're you doing in my house?" He didn't loosen his hold on her, but noticed that her eyes snapped to meet his when he mentioned that the house belonged to him. Her mouth opened and closed, and he realized that he must be holding her more tightly then he realized. He loosened his hold and she took gulping breaths, making him feel a twinge of guilt for starving her of it, perhaps unjustly. What if she'd stumbled into the house by accident? Even as the thought entered his mind, he knew how ridiculous it sounded. There could be only one reason why she was in his house: to pilfer what his family had left behind on the island. Even so, he couldn't dredge up the anger to turn her over to the authorities. It's probably her sari, he thought. If it's a representation of her life... His hand dropped from her neck to rest on her forearm, and he nearly started as her large eyes rose to meet his. Of all things, he hadn't expected the little thief to have those peculiar colored eyes. They were a dark blue, like the blue of Sapphire stones, and disarmingly innocent. "S-sir?" Anita stammered, fearful of the way he was staring at her, his green eyes full of something she couldn't quite ascertain. She had already put pieces of the puzzle together to determine that she was facing the Duke of Shackleton, but what she couldn't understand was why he had crawled into the house through the window when there was a perfectly sound door in the front. She averted her eyes and tried move away from him when she found that he wouldn't stop staring at her. "S-sir, you're two days early. We expected you on Monday, with your family..." "Do I know you?" he interrupted with a raised eyebrow, then shook his head. "I suppose a more appropriate question would be 'who are you?'" Anita swallowed thickly. "I'm the housekeeper." * By the Bay Ch. 02 © Lily Rockmore, 2009 Chapter Two: The light went out, and he didn't bother to light the flint again. Anita didn't need the light to see the suspicion in his eyes. "I didn't ask for a housekeeper," he said, and his arms tightened imperceptibly around her neck. "Neither did my father have one. Don't think of lying, girl. Who are you?" Anita swallowed again. How was she to prove that she was indeed the new housekeeper without Madam Ruth around? "But, sir," she said with a slight stammer. "Madam Ruth hired me last week." Madam Ruth. Could that be Madam Ruth Tatiana? Even if it was, how would she know that he was coming and why would she hire him household staff? "She -- um -- I remember her telling me that you wrote to her, asking the house to be readied for your arrival. So she hired two of us to clean the house last week. We've been living here since then." He'd done no such thing, of course, but from the way the girl was speaking she seemed to think he was telling the truth. And from the war, he'd learned that facts didn't matter as much as the capacity of the human mind to believe them. "Two of you?" he stated a moment later, catching on to her little slip. "If I remember correctly, you'd just told me that there was no one else in the house." It was getting difficult to breathe. Her voice was whisper-soft. "I thought you were a burglar, s-sir. I didn't know if you'd hurt me, much more the other m-maid." When Jay realized that the arm around her neck was choking her slightly, he released her, and felt a pang of guilt as she took deep, gulping breaths. Then a curse left his lips when he finally understood who had been meddling with his affairs. Who else would, but his mother. She'd done it before, and it seemed entirely possible that she would do it again. She wouldn't have thought of it as meddling, of course, but 'motherly care' was the word she would use. He remembered her pestering him to take a few servants with him on the trip, but he'd said no. Rather firmly, if he recalled. But his mother had gotten her way in the end. 'It's all for your own good, Jay,' he could almost hear her say. He sighed. "Madam Ruth, you say?" He raised a hand to rub his shadowed jaw, assessing the girl as she nodded with her head bowed. She was rather interesting, with her whisper-soft voice and flashing blue eyes that were bold in their color yet shy in gaze. He didn't stop himself from running his eyes down her body. From what he could see of her, she was a shapely girl, with too much meat on her hips than was fashionable. Her loose hair tumbled down her back in damp tendrils, giving her, amongst other things, an extraordinarily exotic look. There was also something about a clean woman after a bath that was incredibly appealing. When an image of a woman, naked, cocooned in a bathtub entered his mind, he shook his head and cursed his vivid imagination. "Then I think my apologies are due. I'd thought you were a thief." She shifted slightly on her feet. "I'd thought so, too, sir, from the way you climbed through the window." "I lost my keys," he replied simply. "I didn't have much of a choice." "Oh, we have extra ones in the kitchen. Would you like for me to get them for you?" He smiled slightly, thinking it somewhat amusing that she never raised her head whilst speaking to him."Not right now, no. The morning would be fine." There was a brief silence as he bent to retrieve his belongings. She rushed forward to do it for him, but he brushed her offer away. He wanted her to get one thing straight. "Since we're going to be living under the same roof for some time, I might as well let you know now that I don't like to be waited on." She stepped away from him immediately, as though his words had physically repelled her. He understood the insensitivity of his words once they left his mouth. Her only duty -- probably -- was to wait on him and he had just said he didn't need to be waited on. He quickly amended his sentence. "But since you're here, would you like to show me to my room?" "Of course, sir," she said and walked in the direction of the stairs, careful to dodge the furniture that she knew would be in her way. As quickly as possible, she picked her way up the flight of stairs and opened the doors to the room that had its own balcony. She didn't even need to think of which room to give him. As the only occupant, he deserved the best. A few seconds later, she heard him coming up behind her. "We had prepared the room for you and your wife, sir," she said, somehow embarrassed by her words. There were fresh flowers on the dressing table and lace curtains hanging by the balcony -- feminine touches she'd thought his wife would like. "It has the most beautiful view." Jay put the bags down and looked around the room. "Well, since I don't have a wife, I suppose I'd have to enjoy the view on my own." The room had been decorated in the late nineteenth century, and its design attested to it. Rich white and blue wallpaper covered the walls whilst the furniture was made of pinewood. There was a dressing table opposite the bed, and beside the dressing table were the doors to the balcony. He strode over and opened them, letting the cool breeze from the sea, and moonlight swirl throughout the room. When he turned away from the view, the girl had already lit two lamps and was turning the covers on the bed, down. The warm glow from the candle haloed her body, making her dark skin glow. The dip of her waist that wasn't covered by the sari was uncannily obvious, and the curve of her bottom was almost… violent. Her fingers moved over the sheets, tucking in the excess and righting it to form a straight line on the bed. Her actions were nothing but ordinary, and yet, he felt an odd stirring in his abdomen. Her hands were mesmerizing and he could not tear his gaze from the way they efficiently stroked the sheets. Her hair, too, fell like a dark curtain over her shoulder, and she reached back several times to push it out of the way, making her blouse hike up just a little, revealing ample skin. When she stepped away from the bed, he consciously made himself tear his eyes away from her feminine form and was staring off into the night. "If it gets cold, sir, the extra blankets are at the top of the cupboard." She motioned to the cupboard and began fiddling with the ends of her sari whilst waiting for him to respond. "If you need anything else, sir," she hastened to remind him, "the servant's bell is by the door." He nodded, pushing himself away from the balcony. "Yes, thank you." She took that as a sign of dismissal and walked toward the door, but tuned back abruptly when his voice carried to her. "By the way," he said, watching her turn the end of her sari into a tight knot. Her fingers were trembling slightly. It dawned on him that her actions might be signs of anxiety. Well, he didn't blame her. If someone had accosted him in the middle of the night, he'd be wary of that person as well. "What is your name?" He heard her release a quiet breath, as though she'd expected him to say something else. "Anita, sir," she said. "The other maid's name is Nanthini." He nodded. Anita. She turned away from him again, and he watched her back unblinkingly as she retreated, not knowing why he was staring, yet unable to take his eyes away from her plump bottom. Wind from the sea ruffled his hair as she disappeared into the house. He shook his head. He must be tired, and his eyes were just finding convenient targets to focus on. Everything will be all right in the morning, after some much-needed rest. But when he shed his clothes and tumbled into the bed, he fell asleep with the smell of jasmine blossoms on his sheets. * Anita leaned against the table in the kitchen and just breathed, something she felt like she hadn't done in the past few minutes. Her fingers curled around the wood, trying to release the anxiety in her body. Oh, she was so scared of that man. He was so tall -- probably twice the size of the men she knew. And his eyes, dear gods, his eyes… she was very afraid of the look in them whenever his gaze landed on her. She remembered him leaning against the doorframe of the balcony, his eyes a glittering green in the lamplight, watching her with a look she couldn't define. It had scared her, because it made him look so attractive. Yes, he was handsome, despite his largeness. Very handsome, in fact. His hair hung in curls around his neck, and he had a strong features. His physique wasn't overly packed with muscles, but had just enough to show that he frequently exercised. She really didn't understand why she was shaken by that man. There were a lot of white men around the island, and none of them had impacted in this manner. She let out a deep breath and unwound her fingers from the wood. What did it matter if her employer scared her? She was here to do a job and send her sister to school. She would put up with him even if he was the devil himself. Determination squared her shoulders, and she walked towards her room, briefly checking on Meera before she went to bed. * When he awoke, it was to soft sunlight and the distant rumble of seawater. He lay on the centre of the bed, a pillow behind his head and one on his chest, the position of ultimate comfort if anyone had asked his opinion on the subject. The smell of the sea and palm trees drifted through the room, making him turn over and bury himself into the pillow with a smile. After years of dreaming of this place, he was finally here. It was almost surreal, the charm of this island, dragging him into sleep that was more restful that any he'd had back at home. Reveling in the newfound comfort, he dozed for a while longer, only slipping out of bed when the glare of sunlight on his eyelids became unbearable. The house was quiet when he went downstairs a few minutes later, dressed in the same loose shirt and pants that he'd worn the night before. His hair was still uncombed, falling past his eyes in boyish waves. He ran a hand through it in an attempt to right the curls as he passed a mirror, but he knew that the effort was useless. His hair had always been untamable. The table had already been set for breakfast, he noted, as he entered the dining room. There were several porcelain bowls on the table, covered with matching lids. The smell of crisp bacon wafted to him as he settled himself comfortably in the high-backed chair. He'd just taken the lid off the first bowl when a figure clad in white bustled into the room. Anita, he thought. So she had been real. Last night, as he was about to fall asleep, he'd almost attributed her to his imagination because she'd captured more of his attention than any woman had. Knowing she was not a figment of his imagination set his blood humming slightly as he watched her murmur good morning and set the kettle of tea in front of him. She was different this morning, wearing a white cotton dress with an apron over her skirt. Her hair was secured by a knot at the base of her neck. The dress had buttons so high that it covered her collarbones, revealing little skin and making him feel distinctly uncomfortable for her. He sat back and watched as she served him from the bowls: several slices of bacon, a spoonful of eggs, toast. An English breakfast. How lovely. He poured himself some tea, sweetening it with a spoonful of sugar. She stood aside as he stirred his tea, making him wonder if she was going to stand there 'til the end of the meal. Even if she was going to, he wouldn't have minded. She made a pretty nice view from where he was seated. Her features were as perfect as he remembered. The moonlight hadn't made her look more beautiful, as he'd made himself believe. She was still the soft, supple woman he'd nearly choked to death the night before. The gentle curve of her jaw was almost familiar to him now, so was the quick dip of her waist. He remembered having placed his arm against the underside of that jaw, feeling her throat work as she swallowed in fear. Her skin had been soft, he remembered. And warm. He didn't realize that he'd stopped drinking his tea or that his food was getting cold, as his gaze traveled along the length of her body, the moss-green orbs hidden behind a curtain of dark lashes. He didn't know why he took that precaution not to let her know he was watching her; even if he was openly staring at her, she wouldn't know it, for her gaze was fixed to the floor. He took a sip of the tea, noticing -- again -- the nip of her waist and the flare of her hips that were accentuated by the tight dress. Her hands were clasped in front of her waist, those hands that he… good god! The chair made a loud scraping noise as it moved against the wooden floor. He stared at the marks on the thin column of her hands -- the imprint of harsh fingers. Her eyes met his as he looked up, shock paralyzing him. Had he actually done that to her? He was willing to bet that those were his fingerprints on her skin. Had he held her that tightly last night? As soon as she saw what he was staring at, she hid her hands behind her, lowering her eyes once again. When he strode towards her, she took a few steps back. "Show me your hands," he said in a low voice. Intimidated by the dangerous glitter in his eyes, she held her hands out to him, the bluish-black indents clearly visible in the daylight. It didn't hurt, not really, and she didn't understand why he was reacting to her injuries like this. It was rather usual for housekeepers and maids to take beatings from their masters; she'd seen enough bruises on her mother to know that first-hand. Besides, it wasn't as though he'd harmed her intentionally… not yet. "'Tis nothing," she said, her voice hoarse. "It will heal." "Like hell it is." He shook his head. "You need to see a doctor." Gently, he reached out the touch the bruises. His fingers traced lightly over the indentation of one finger, no lighter than the touch of the wind from the horizon. An unknown tingle spread up her arms, causing tiny goosepimples to form on the part of her arm that was covered with cloth. The feeling was foreign, unfamiliar, and she realized with a start that this man was the very first to touch her. Before last night, she couldn't remember ever being touched by a man. Jay felt her arm tremble uncertainly and he let it go, looking up to find her cobalt eyes wide, uncertain. She was close, all too close, and he could smell the heady mixture of wild jasmine again. The exotic slant of her eyes and cherubic fullness of her lips called to him, and he stepped away from her, both physically and mentally. Her gaze fell to the floor again. "There's no need to call for a doctor, sir. It doesn't hurt," she tried to say. But she spoke only to his back. * "Keep this on for seven to ten days," the old French doctor said, tying a secure knot on the bandage he'd wound around her arm. He was a patient man, with graying hair and a bald spot that Anita focused on whilst Doctor Jean worked on her bruises. In fact, Anita's eyes strayed everywhere but to the man who hovered behind the doctor, hands clasped behind his back as though he were s soldier at a parade. But his eyes were on her, she could feel them burning into her skin. She didn't understand this man. He didn't fit into her categories of white men. The first category was the kind that ignored the help; the second was the kind who used the help. She'd been privy to the first one, and had seen the second being played out in front of her eyes. And she'd concluded that there were only two kinds of white men. But which category did this man fit into? Although she refused to admit it, she was slightly unnerved by him. His gaze unsettled her, and after all the stories of horror she'd heard about white men and their appetites, she was frightened to even return his gaze. Even if no man had shown interest in her before, she wasn't willing to take any chances with this man. He seemed dangerous to her, especially because of the way he'd instinctively but accurately lashed out at her last night, even though he couldn't see her in the dark. His strength had been intimidating, and she'd been so afraid he would snap her neck in an instant. But after a moment's hesitation, his hold on her had loosened, almost as if he'd recognized and acknowledged that she was female and of little threat to him. But the imprint of his strength remained, all the same. She doubted that she would ever forget it. "Her bone wasn't affected, was it?" he asked from behind the doctor, and the doctor chuckled as he gathered his equipment. "No, no. There is nothing to worry about. The bone isn't harmed in the least. It is just a slight bruise that will heal in a little over a week." "That's good to hear, Doctor." Anita made her way back into the kitchen as the men settled the monetary matters. As quickly as possible, she heated the food that was now cold and set them out again. It was nearing eleven in the morning, and the Duke would be wanting lunch soon. She wondered what was taking Nanthini so long to return from the market with the groceries. She was just muttering to herself when she felt someone standing at the entrance of the kitchen. And even without turning, she knew it would be him. "I apologize, Anita. It was simply instinct that had…" "No, sir. I'm in no pain. You don't have to apologize. The bruises would have healed without a doctor." "They might have, but I feel responsible." She dared a glace up at him, and cracked a small and -- she hoped -- reassuring smile. "You've yet to have your breakfast," she changed the subject instead, turning to the wood stove and flipping the cold pieces of toast onto the pan. "Have you eaten?" "Yes," Anita lied. "Can I have my meal in here? The kitchen has a better view than the dining room." Without waiting for her response, he slid onto a stool and helped himself to the food already on the table. Although he had little appetite, he knew she would be hurt if he didn't eat at all. His eyes kept traveling back to the bandage on her forearm, and whenever he thought of the damage he'd caused her to her skin, he sighed with regret. How could he have been so blind? He'd hurt a woman, for god's sake. He shook his head as she slid two slices of toast onto his plate, vowing he would make it up to her somehow. It never crossed his mind that he was thinking too much about accidentally hurting a servant, someone whom he would probably never see again if he left the port. All he saw was a woman, hurt, because of him. His heavy sigh brought her eyes to him, and again he marveled at their intense coloring, so stark against her browned skin. Then her lashes swept forward, shielding the blue orbs from his perusal. Jay looked down at his plate, stabbing at a juicy, fat sausage. He felt her moving about the room, heard the swivel of her skirts and the soft pads of her footfalls. He watched the perfect silhouette that her body made against the sunlight filtering in from the windows. Beautiful, he thought. Peaceful. Peaceful. As the hours waned, and sunlight sank into inky darkness, Jay left the house for a stroll across the beach. As he sat on large, smooth rock at the corner of the beach, he waited for inspiration to assault him. He was in a different place, surrounded by different people. How could he not feel inspired? But as the evening progressed, and nothing substantial came to his mind, he gave up, slowly sliding off the rock in temporary defeat. As he walked in the direction of the house, feet sinking into the soft sand, brief flashes of images entered his mind. Anita and the bruises he'd unintentionally caused her. Anita peeking up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Anita standing by the kitchen window. By the Bay Ch. 02 A smile flirted with his lips as he trekked back to the house, wondering what she'd made for dinner and if she would allow him to have his meal in the kitchen again. * The next few days settled into comfortable routine. After that first day of indulgence, Jay woke before dawn thereafter, going for his customary morning run before returning to the house for a bath and breakfast. Instead of the drab butter and toast morning meals that she had been asked to make, Jay had coaxed Anita into making a few local treats. She'd allowed him to sit in the kitchen and watch her make them, too. In fact, she seemed delighted that he wanted to try the food of her culture. He could've sworn he'd seen dimples when she'd smiled when he'd told her he'd like a change of breakfast. He met the other maid, too. She was short and plump in a motherly manner, with eyes that could rival a squirrel's. When he'd asked her, she'd told him that she was a mother of four, and that her family was on the other side of the island. She only worked at the house during the weekdays, and left to be with her family during the weekends. She was staying at the house this weekend only because of his arrival. Jay was definitely comfortable with the situation. After a week of being there, he felt more than rested, and all the memories from his past seemed like another person's. He wrote to his mother and chided her -- as best as a son could -- for her meddling in his affairs, and sent a note to his sister who was pursuing higher education at Cambridge University. Those two people were the only aspects of the past that he thought about. Everything else, he buried deep within his subconscious mind. * He awoke one particular morning to find the pre-dawn light speckled with pinks and blues. The sun itself was a mere shadow on the horizon, its blaze shadowed by clouds. Inspiration struck him like a fist, and he threw the thin bedsheet aside and clothed himself quickly before grabbing the typewriter and settling himself on the chair in the balcony. Hour after hour, he sat there, unmoving as he exhausted the spark of inspiration that had lit his mind. Words appeared on the page, some of them a mistake that needed correcting, but others, the perfect addition to another reality. He immersed himself in another world, a world that he made up as words flowed from his fingertips. It was nearing noon when he realized that everything he'd wanted to write was already on the page. He was looking through the stack of printed paper when he heard someone humming inside the room. He recognized her voice immediately as she picked out a tune, naïve to the fact that she was being watched. She wore the tighter white dress today -- yes, he did notice that one of her dresses was tighter than the other -- and was stripping the bed of its linen. She roughly folded the material and set it aside before laying a new set of sheets on the bed. As she crossed his mirror, he watched in fascination as she took apart the bun she'd made of her hair and tied it into a tighter knot. Her hair was longer than he'd thought it had been. It fell to her hips in strands that were neither curly nor straight. And it smelled of jasmine, he knew. Sweet, sweet jasmine. He moved to stand at the doorway of the balcony, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting for her to notice him. She did so almost instantly, for he was blocking the sunlight that lit the room. He laughed when she gasped at the sight of him and took a step back. "That's what you get for coming into a man's room uninvited," he said with a shake of his head as he made for the cupboard. "I-I'm sorry, sir. I did knock." Anita swallowed thickly, trying not to look in his direction. Her heart was thudding two times faster than it usually did, and her chest felt tight. She had known she'd regret entering his room without being sure that he wasn't there! But how was she to know that he'd be sitting in the balcony? He was usually out exploring the island at this time. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes. Gods, the man was positively naked! His shirtless chest was bared to her gaze, the shade of his skin a very appealing gold. But what shocked her even more were the tattoos on his body. A dragon rose up from a cauldron of fire on his abdomen, and what looked like a foreign language made a band around his right arm. The tattoos stirred her, lured her. It was unexplainable. Anita bit her lip and averted her eyes yet again. Plucking a fresh shirt from the cupboard, Jay drew it over his head before turning to her. He was surprised that she was still standing there, but he supposed that she couldn't leave the bed half-made. If he'd learned anything about her, she was always as neat as a pin, and wouldn't leave things half-done. "Should I return later?" she asked in that soft voice of hers, so different from the one she'd used when she sang. "No, no. Don't let me stop you from your chores. I was almost done, anyway." He watched her for a moment more as she turned back to the bed. Then he, too, collected his papers from the balcony and set them in a drawer in the room. He was in an excellent mood, his blood still humming from the rush of creativity. It was a perfect day, too, he thought to himself when he heard the little green bird that haunted the garden, sing. A perfect day in a perfect place. He combed his hair out, letting it curl around his neck, all the while watching her in the mirror. She set about her task quickly, replacing all the linens faster than he could imagine possible. His eyebrows rose in admiration as she shook the old sheets out, jiggling certain body parts as she did so. She looked up, and her eyes met his in the mirror. He smiled, and she looked away very quickly. He rubbed his stomach. "So what's for breakfast?" * Later that day, Doctor Jean came by again to remove the bandage. The bruises had healed completely, and there wasn't even a blue patch to hint that she'd been hurt. The doctor smiled, patted her knee reassuringly and told Jay to call on him if anything untoward happened. Anita was glad to have the bandage finally removed. She'd only been able to take basin baths because of it. Tonight, she'd promised herself that she would take a nice, long soak in the small tub. An hour after the doctor left, she stood in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner. The Duke had left the house, saying something about a ship carrying books coming into port. Nanthini had left for her home yesterday, and it was up to Anita to do the laundry and clean the house today. Meera, too, had decided to spend time writing and had taken to some secluded part of town where she could find peace. She'd promised, however, to be back by dinner. The house was quiet as she diced the potatoes, her humming the only flaw in the stillness. She was making fish curry today, since there'd been fresh fish in the market. It had been a while since she'd even tasted fish, and she felt her mouth water at the mere thought of the tender meat. She hoped that the Duke would like it, as fish curry was usually a little sour, different from other curries. She remembered the day he'd asked her to make food that she liked to eat, not just drab English meals. She'd nearly laughed, for she held exactly the same sentiment for English food. They were all so bland -- like curry without spice. She'd been overjoyed that he liked the food of her people, and only too eager to cook some for him. She slid the potatoes into the pot, together with an unripe mango, lady's fingers, curry paste that she'd made last night, several spices, and four cupfuls of water. Then she put the lid on it and grabbed the basket of dirty clothes that was by the door. Outside, on her knees, she shook out each article of clothing before soaking it in a basin of water. Meera's schooldress and underthings went in first, then Anita soaked her own clothes. From the bottom of the basket, she pulled out the Duke's shirt, the same one he'd worn on the night she'd first met him. She shook it out, making specks of lint disperse themselves. As she did so, she caught a whiff of his smell in the air. It reminded her of something musky, and she knew he applied the scent from a little bottle he kept on the dresser. In fact, she'd seen him do so just that morning. Her cheeks warmed at the thought. She couldn't believe she'd been privy to such an intimate thing, and worse, she couldn't believe that she'd invaded the man's privacy while he'd been half-naked. Even so, she seemed to have been more embarrassed by the situation than he'd been, and she was the one with all her clothes on. Actually, she thought now, she doubted that he'd been embarrassed at all! An image of his tattoos flashed in her mind, and her hands twisted in the soft cotton. She didn't understand her reaction to those beautiful ink-marks, but they churned low in her belly, making her bite her bottom lip. She just had to close her eyes to see his gaze in the mirror, heated, unblinking, dangerous… attractive. She hadn't understood that look or why it had been directed at her, but she'd felt the effect of it right down to the ties of her petticoat. Could she admit it even to herself? She felt an attraction for the Duke. He was kind, patient, so handsome… but there was more. An unspoken something that stood between them. She couldn't understand it, much more, explain it. It's probably just me, she thought sadly. Perhaps being twenty-three and unmarried is taking its toll on me. Shaking her head, she put all the clothes in the basin and began the process of washing. She paused halfway through, her hands immersed in soapy water. A shudder of repulsion went through her. What was she thinking? Attracted to the Duke? Hadn't she learnt anything from her mother? After everything she'd seen happen before her eyes, how could she still think about any kind of attraction to a white man? Was she crazy? I probably am, she thought, squaring her shoulders. She was crazy for feeling anything for the kind of men who would leave a woman pregnant with their child and return to their all-proper England without so much as a goodbye. Crazy, she thought. Crazy and stupid. But the Duke isn't like that. She ignored the voice in her head, steeling herself from the emotion that welled in her. The memory of her mother had been brutal, clearing any thought of the Duke from her thoughts. She could not afford to think of him as anything more than her employer. If she did, she might find herself with a child in her belly and no one to claim as its father. Stupid and crazy, she reminded herself. Stupid and crazy. * Jay returned to the house just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. He was feeling more excellent than he had that morning, if that were humanly possible. The ship that had docked today had been carrying trunkloads of new novels from America and Britain, and he'd sifted through every single trunk of books to find the ones that interested him. The captain of the ship had promised to deliver all the books he'd selected by the end of the night, and Jay could not wait to get his hands on "This Freedom", a novel that had caused a large buzz in America. He smiled as he entered the house, and instantly caught the tantalizing whiff of curry in the air. His stomach churned, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since his late breakfast. "Anita," he called out as he dropped his bag by the door. When she didn't respond or come out to meet him, he went into the kitchen to look for her. She wasn't in there either, but he could see her from the kitchen window, peering over the rear gate as though she were looking for someone. He called out to her and she turned at the sound of his voice. Then she turned away to take one more look over the gate before running back to the house. "Is everything all right?" he asked as she entered the house through the back door. "Yes, sir. Everything is fine." "Are you sure?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked rather flustered. She nodded. "Would you like your dinner now, then?" He could tell from the lines of worry on her face that everything wasn't all right. But he decided to wait for her to tell him. "Yes, thank you." * Her hand trembled as she served him his after-meal tea. He noticed that fact right away, and took the cup from her hand before she could spill the hot liquid onto his lap. Still, she wouldn't tell him what the matter was. He watched her silently as she nibbled worriedly on her lips as she cleared the table. He leaned back on his chair and sipped the steaming brew, not knowing why he was feeling edgy all of a sudden. Something was troubling her, yes. But why should that affect him? A loud crash from the kitchen had him sprinting towards the noise, only to find Anita on the floor, trying to clean up the mess that the spilled vegetables had made. "I-I'm sorry," she said, her voice wavering. "I'm so butter-fingered…" "Anita." He stopped the needless flow of her words by calling her name. He knelt next to her and righted the overturned pot. "What's wrong?" "Nothing, sir. I just have to clean this mess." Her voice cracked, as though she were on the verge of tears. "If you tell me what it is, I may be able to help you." Her eyes rose to meet his, and he could see the glimmer of tears in them. His chest tightened at the sight for reasons he did not want to decipher. But as he watched, she blinked them away with dainty flicks of her lashes. "I… my sister is missing." * Hey guys, Hope you're enjoying the story! I've received a few questions about the context of this story and what it would mean to Anita and Jay's relationship, and I'll be addressing them slowly in the next few chapters. Your feedback really means much to me, especially when I'm writing. Sometimes, I take a break just to come back and read them. They make me reassess the story from time to time and wonder if certain ideas and characters are believable. You guys really are my 'reality check' consultants (and I really need one, trust me). Anywho, chapter three coming soon! Thanks so much for reading! Cheers, Lily. By the Bay Ch. 03 © Lily Rockmore, 2009 Chapter Three "I… my sister is missing. She's nearly two hours late in coming home now. Anything could have happened to her, sir. I'm so worried…" Even as she said those words, they heard the creak of the back door opening. Anita turned swiftly to see her sister coming through the door, her hair windblown, cheeks flushed. Relief had her feeling weak, but she found enough strength to scramble to her feet and throw her hands around her little sister, just to make sure she was truly there. "I'm so sorry, 'Ka," Meera said, genuinely sorry for forgetting the time. She'd been having such fun that she'd not even noticed the darkening of the clouds. She could only guess how worried Anita could've been. "I know you were worried. I'm so sorry I wasn't home earlier." Anita pulled away from her sister, not knowing if she should scold the girl of hug the air out of her. She concluded that she'd already done the latter, so she might as well do the former. "How could you be so irresponsible, Meera? You knew that I'd be worried sick if you're so much as ten minutes late. Two hours, Meera! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?" "I know, I know. I've nothing to say for myself, 'Ka. I forgot the time, and I'm sorry. Please don't be mad." Jay watched the exchange with interest. They were speaking in a foreign tongue – Tamil, he assumed since she'd told him she was from the South – and were using graphic hand gestures to illustrate their point. Anita's sister looked nothing like her. They were complete opposites, in fact. The younger girl had bountiful blonde curls and dark eyes, but he had to admit that the family resemblance was there, in their bone structure. He was not surprised that she, too, wasn't of pure Indian descent. He had just decided to leave them to their family squabble when Anita turned, fury burning in her blue eyes. It was the first time he'd seen her angry, and was transfixed by how the emotion lightened the color of her eyes to a softer blue. In a corner of his tainted mind, he began to wonder how her eyes would look in other scenarios, specifically when her blood was hot with passion. Would it turn black? Or an even lighter blue? He shook his head at his thoughts. It must've been too long since his last woman. He was acting like an over-eager schoolboy, his thoughts almost always revolving around her. It was almost pathetic, really, since she seemed to show no interest in him at all. Anita seemed disinclined to talk to her sister, and he didn't say a word as he volunteered to help her clean up the mess on the floor. She protested, and he didn't dare insist, for the look in her eyes told him that she was still mad at her sister. As he left the kitchen, he felt another pair of eyes on him, but when he looked up, there was no one where Anita's sister had stood. * "Are you sleeping with him?" Anita had just returned to the kitchen after locking the front door when her sister blurted the question with no trace whatsoever of shame or guilt. Anita stopped walking and simply stared at her sister in shock. "Are you?" She couldn't get her throat to work. The question had just taken her by such surprise… "No. No, of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?" Her hand flew to her heart, as though to massage an invisible pain. Her sister continued to stare at her, a foreign maturity reflected in her eyes. What could her sister possibly know about the ways of men and women? She narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Meera, is there something that you're not telling me? Did something happen? Are you hurt? Just now, when you were late -." It was a relief when Meera chuckled. "'Ka," she said between chuckles, "you should know me better than that." "Well, you scared me." Anita sighed as she took a seat opposite her sister. "Why did you ask me that, all of a sudden?" Meera shrugged. "I don't know. Just the way he looks at you, I suppose." Disinterestedly, she picked up her book and started reading. Anita took a moment to digest that. "And how does he look at me?" Without looking up, her sister shrugged and continued reading. Anita nudged her foot. "Mmhmm," Meera muttered without bothering to look up. "Meera? How does he look at me?" Impatiently, Anita tapped on the table to get her sister's attention. "Mmm." "Oh, give me that!" Anita snatched the book out of her sister's hands, making Meera look at her sister with a sly look in her eyes. "How does he look at me?" Meera smiled, a sinister, cat-like smile that let her sister knew she was up to no-good. "He looks at you," she said, before continuing in a whisper, "Like he wants to kiss every inch of your body. Every single inch." The book came back to Meera, flying across the table toward her head, but she was too busy laughing to catch it. "Why, you little pig!" She stumbled out of her chair when Anita stood up, making a mad dash for the backyard. Jay stood by the windows in the library, watching the two women running across the backyard, shouting taunts and curses in both English and Tamil. They ran around the backyard twice, like little school girls, before Anita pinned her sister to the ground and began to tickle her. Their laughter floated to his ears, and he couldn't help but join in as well. * He dreamt of her that night. It was either his overactive imagination or his needy body that made him dream of dusky skin and blue eyes, but for those few hours, she had felt so very real. He could see her, stretched out on a beach. Her skin wet and sticky with wet sand, hair tantalizingly covering her breasts like a mermaid. From where he stood, somewhere a few feet in front of her, he could see that her hands were straying up and down her thighs. Up and down, and with each movement, his body would beg, strain, plead to move closer to her. But there was something stopping him, preventing him from kneeling in front of her and taking her in his arms. So, he had to watch, his forehead beaded with sweat, as her fingers traveled higher and higher 'til they skimmed the crown of sinful curls. He could smell her – god only knew how he could – and the scent lathered his frame like thick, warm perfume. Then her finger disappeared into the silky crop, and he swallowed as she threw her head back, lips parted in a silent gasp. Her thighs parted slightly, and he fought against the force holding him again, promising it that he would give anything to go to her in that moment, but it was pointless. There was no pity in his restrainer. As he watched, one finger was joined by another, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan, resulting in a mewl that had his blood curdling. Then she was stroking, caressing, circling, faster, faster, her fingers moving to pleasure only herself… until, with a shudder that gave him goosebumps, she called his name. Jay awoke just in time to feel a sticky wetness rapidly coat the inside of his thighs. Cursing, he rolled off the bed to avoid getting anything unexplainable on the sheets, then hopped with as much finesse as possible to the cupboard. Mumbling, he wiped himself off with a towel. Then he paused to take a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed, burying his head in his palms. His heart still thudded with the impact of his orgasm. In fact, every few seconds, a tingle ran up his abdomen, making his muscles quiver. Lord, he thought. He hadn't done that since he was a curious twelve year-old. With a large sigh, he fell back onto the bed, his face still covered with his palms. He had to stop thinking about her so much. It was fucking with his mind. She was just a maid, after all. And an innocent, probably. He had no business thinking of her in that way. But he wanted her. Oh, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly that he still hurt after coming all over himself. Jay groaned, burying himself between the sheets again, shutting his eyes tightly, willing himself to think of something else. His half-sister, Catherine, came to mind and he thought of her for a while. Catherine Mae, with her gray eyes and dark hair. He wondered if she'd finish school soon, and if he would get to see her before she got married and had a brood of her own. A few minutes later, he smiled in his sleep, thinking Catherine looked rather attractive with blue eyes and dark skin. * "I've to go," Meera mumbled as she saw the first hint of dawn appearing on the horizon. Her companion mumbled, and she felt a kiss being pressed to the dip of her neck. A hand wrapped around her middle, tightened, and Meera felt the familiar tingles returning. "Don't go just yet." The voice, rough from sleep, whispered in her ear. She sighed, wishing she could stay just a little while longer, but Anita would be awake soon. And if her sister found her gone, the consequence would be catastrophic. "Stay with me. Come away with me." Temptation, she thought. She'd fought it and lost over the past few days. But this was a battle she couldn't afford to lose. Her sister was important to her, and she didn't want to leave her alone and set off for another country like an ungrateful wretch. But damn, the lure was so strong. "I can't. You know why," she chided softly instead, linking her fingers through longer, fairer ones. She heard a sigh, then a pained groan. Meera chuckled, turning over to place a kiss to her lover's full lips. "I… I'll be back tonight." She knew she was being watched as she covered herself with her sari and gathered her hair in a bun. Then, with one last, lingering kiss, she hurried out the door, leaving her lover sighing on the bed. * She was dusting the foyer when he trudged down the stairs the next morning, dressed in a loose black shirt and trousers. He stopped when he saw her running a feather-duster behind the mirror and over the cupboards, humming to herself. Her back was to him, and although she was wearing the looser dress today, he remembered just how small her waist was. Fragments of his dream assaulted him, and he had to suppress a shudder. Anita turned when she heard him clearing his throat. For a moment, she forgot that Madam Ruth had told her never to look her employer in the eye, for when her eyes met the brilliant green of his, she couldn't look away. Stupid and crazy, a voice told her, but she ignored it. He was wearing black today, she noted, and the color contrasted well with his golden skin. He'd rolled the sleeves of the shirt up, and she could glimpse a hint of his tattoo. An image of him, half-naked, flashed in her mind, and she bit her lip. When his lips turned up in a smile, she remembered her manners and averted her eyes. "Good morning," she said softly. "Would you like breakfast?" He briefly wondered how she could've gone from such a wanton in his dreams to a passive woman by day. "Yes, thank you." She was looking at the floor again, he thought irritably. He hated it when she did that. Her eyes were too beautiful for her to hide them, and he didn't like the subservience that came with the rationale behind the action. But at least, he noted, she had been doing less of it lately, as though she could not help but meet his gaze. The thought made his skin tight. The other maid served him today, the one who looked like a squirrel. He hid his disappointment behind a cup of tea and ate in silence while watching Anita dust the hall from the corner of his eyes. It was addiction. She was addiction. He hadn't tried opium before, but he was sure that its effect would be the same as her presence. After breakfast, the maid handed him a note that she said had arrived that morning. He groaned when he read it. Madam Ruth, the woman his father had placed in charge of the house, wanted to pay him a visit that evening to see if he was settling in well. He knew he couldn't reject the invitation without being improper, so he told the maid to cook something English for dinner. He re-entered the hall just in time to see Anita trying to heft up the stairs, the large bag of books he'd purchased last night. She dragged the bag up three steps, and paused to take a breath before trying again. Jay smiled a little before striding over to her and picking up the bag, slinging it effortlessly over his shoulder. "They're my books," he said in lieu of an explanation, and Anita didn't contest it. She followed his lead up the stairs. He set the books down in the library, and Anita got to work instantly, kneeling before him and undoing the knot on the bag. She calmly took the book the books out and shook them free of dust, placing them in a neat stack, innocent to the man who was standing above her with passion plain in his eyes. The sight of her on her knees before him was the final straw. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed, especially because she didn't know what wicked things could be done in that position. Quickly, he turned and palmed the decanter of whiskey he'd set on the table last night. After several long, burning swigs, he looked at her again, and found her eyes on him. Those large, blue eyes staring at him from her perch on the floor. His throat itched for another shot of the whiskey. Then she turned away, returning to her task, and he settled behind the desk, leafing through the draft he'd already written for the novel. He had just skimmed his fingertips over the golden keys of the typewriter when it hit him. A book! Of course. Books. A diary. Of course! Anita jumped visibly when she heard the typewriter go off like a gun behind her. She turned to find the Duke tapping away on the machine as though the fury of hell was challenging him for the use of it. She shook her head and returned to her work, neatly stacking the books on the shelf before exiting the room, leaving him to his privacy. * Nanthini needed with preparing the evening meal, and that chore kept Anita occupied for most of the afternoon. She skinned chicken, peeled potatoes and diced vegetables while Nanthini figured out just how to roast chicken. Anita couldn't blame her for not knowing how to. Nanthini hadn't worked in an English house before. But she smiled when she saw how eager the older woman was to learn. After fifteen minutes of watching her struggle to read from the book of recipes, however, Anita took pity on her and shared her best recipe with her. For that, Nanthini was grateful, and they worked side by side 'til the meal was displayed in fine-boned China bowls and set on the table in the dining room. Anita ticked off the mental checklist she'd made, just to be sure that she didn't miss anything out. Madam Ruth had been called away to another part of the island earlier that week, and had trusted Anita – since she had more experience in the upkeep of a large house – to make sure everything was running smoothly. Anita certainly didn't want to disappoint her. "Looks great, doesn't it?" Anita said with a smile. "Definitely," Nanthini said, her head bobbing as she agreed. "What time is it?" Even as she voiced the question, the large bell in town chimed, telling her it was six in the evening. "He should be down soon," Nanthini said. "Come, let us get cleaned up to impress Madam Ruth." Anita smiled as she followed Nanthini back to the servants' quarters after giving the table-setting another once over. * When they heard Madam Ruth's carriage pull up, and saw no sign of the Duke, Anita took the liberty of heading upstairs to check on the Duke. She wanted to stop by the bedroom first, but the clatter of the typewriter was unmistakable from the stairs. Had he forgetten that he was having guests today? She gently rapped on the door, but he didn't respond. The noise from the typewriter didn't even cease for a second. She rapped louder, then called out to him, but she supposed he could barely hear her through the noise. Slowly, as if dreading what she would see behind the door, she slipped it open slightly, and peeked behind it. He was crouched behind the keys, with a frown between his eyebrows, fingers moving over the keys with strong purpose. A stack of paper lay on the table, and, she noticed with a grimace, the whiskey decanter was empty. Her heart sank. She hoped he wasn't one of those men who was addicted to the liquid devil. Her grandfather had been such a man and had died before his time because of it. At that moment, he stopped typing, and the silence in the room was almost deafening. Taking the opportunity, Anita rapped on the door once again. This time, she got his attention, and he looked up at her with a scowl. She swallowed when she noticed that his eyes were glazed, just like her grandfather's had been when he'd imbibed too much. Anita was instantly scared, for she'd seen how out-of-control her grandfather had been when drunk. "Yes?" The snipped comment made her bite her lip. "Uh, s-sir. Madam Ruth is here." "What?" He looked away from her, turning back to look through the papers on the table. She spoke louder this time. "Madam Ruth, sir. She sent you a note this morning?" "Note?" She didn't know how to respond to that, so she just stood there for a few seconds. Then she decided to try again. "Sir, Madam Ruth is -." He cut her off before she could get a sentence out. "Could you do me a favor, Anita?" She took a step forward, thinking that perhaps he'd come to his senses and was about to ask her to get his jacket from the room. She was wrong. "Please leave me alone." Anita blinked. "But sir, she's waiting for you downstairs." It was his turn to blink. "What? Who?" "Madam Ruth." He blinked a few more times before running his palms over his face. His hair was tousled, and his eyes glittered dangerously. Her eyes flit back to the empty decanter, then back to him as he groaned. "Is it six already?" "Yes." "Damn." He stood up quickly and placed a large paperweight on the stack of paper. "Is there any way you could hold her off for a few minutes while I clean up?" he asked as he walked towards her. She stepped from the doorway to allow him to brush past her, but he stopped just in front of her, waiting for her reply. She was left to stare at the skin revealed by his open collar. Swallowing, she averted her eyes. "I will try, sir." He didn't move. "Anita," he called softly, the smooth baritone of his voice washing over in waves. She swallowed again and nodded without looking up. "I'd like you to look at me when you speak to me." Anita could hear the commotion downstairs, with Madam's voice ringing through the house like a bell. And yet, all that noise became secondary to her when she heard those words. They stroked some sort of need in her, a need she didn't understand. It made her throat hurt. She bit her lip and kept her head bowed. "Madam Ruth says it isn't proper," she replied, her voice as soft as his had been. She jerked when she felt fingers on her chin, but didn't pull away. His fingers were gentle and undemanding, and she didn't feel a need to. Her eyes met his shyly, and he felt desire for her rush through his body like a harsh bolt of lightning. Somehow, her body had swayed closer to his – or his had drifted closer to hers – and now, if she took a deep breath, her breasts would graze his chest. He wished for that to happen, but her breaths remained shallow enough that her bosom stopped just short of his chest. He held her chin for a few seconds more, admiring the curve of her cheeks and the fullness of her lips, never wanting to let her go. Her skin was so soft under his fingers, and the smell of jasmine was spinning a web around him. "You're beautiful," he told her, the words tumbling off his tongue, as though he could not hold it back any longer. The rich blue of her eyes softened, and he saw the change in their color. Cobalt blue to a lighter azure. God, she was exquisite. All he wanted to do was slide his lips against hers. By the Bay Ch. 03 But this wasn't the time. He could hear the bustling downstairs and he didn't want anything to be hurried. He wanted to take his time, to let her get used to him before taking her lips under his, parting them, and sliding home. He shivered as he let her go, and watched with heated eyes as she walked past him to the stairs. * Madam Ruth was younger than he'd imagined her to be. Either that, or age had treated her well. Seated before him was a blonde beauty, one he would've estimated to be no more than ten years older than himself. Her hair was pinned away from her face, and fell down her back in neat curls. Wisps of the golden locks curled against the sides of her breasts, making the swell of the globes more pronounced against her tight evening gown. Her lips were a startling rouge red, and above her lip was a tiny beauty mark that reminded him of a little girl that used to work for his mother back home. He relaxed in his seat as he listened partially to her speaking about the island, and all the places and people he should visit before he left. His mind vaguely registered something about a church, a town square… then she exited the kitchen and his attention was encapsulated by her. Her eyes were downcast again, and he could've groaned his disappointment. The long tendrils of her hair were bound into a tighter bun than usual, and her she'd taken on a serious expression. He supposed she had to look her best for the Madam who'd employed her. But when she came to stand beside him to clear his plates… Anita's knees wobbled when she felt warm heat briefly caressing her waist. The plates in her hands shook, and her gaze flitted accusingly towards him. In response, he gave her his best roguish smile. The room felt rather warm all of a sudden. Anita gathered the cups and plates as quickly as possible and scurried to the kitchen to hand them to Nanthini to wash. When she walked back out, she was mindful not to get too near the Duke. She hadn't expected him to touch her, but after their encounter outside the library, she didn't know what to expect of him anymore. He'd called her beautiful, was all she could think. And his touch had been so… sensual. She knew she should be shocked by his boldness, even outraged, but she would be lying if she said she didn't like it. The look in his eyes earlier that evening had been a mirror of a burning flame. The way his fingers had caressed her cheek had made her feel like she could trust him to be gentle with her. But did she want his attentions, even over her best judgment? You're beautiful. Tiny goosepimples broke out on her skin when she remembered the words he'd whispered to her. It had slid over her like rippling water, stroking her body and making it come alive. She trembled just thinking about it, then told herself that she could not just make decisions without thinking about it. If she were to be with this man, she had to consider what it would mean to Meera, to her job as a maid, and mostly, to herself. Yes, she needed to think. She told herself she'll do it that night whilst cocooned in a steamy bathtub. * When Madam Ruth's fingers found his knee under the table for the third time, he excused himself to use the water closet. He was just a little irked, for as dinner wore on, the woman's invitation had resounded around the table like a siren. He'd seen countless licking of lips, flipping of hair, groping of kneecaps and he was sick of it. So he excused himself for a few minutes to gather the tolerance needed to get through the rest of the evening. When he returned to the dining room, the squirrel maid told him that the Madam had retired to the sitting room. Squaring his shoulders, he made for the sitting room, promising himself that he would give her another half hour before he made up a headache and returned to the library. However, when he entered the library, what he saw made him take a step back in shock. She was lounging on the settee, one lace clad leg thrown over another. Her dress was thrown over the table, and she was donned only a – what was it called? – a corset. As he watched, she stood and sauntered towards him. He was appalled more than ever to find that there was only a thin strip of cloth shielding his gaze from her sex. Run, run, run, his mind told him. But he couldn't seem to catch a breath, much less move his muscles. She slithered against him, her hands entwining around his neck, her voice purring something unintelligible in his ear. She smelled of somewhat fruity, and he wasn't sure why he found that distinctly repulsive. "Uh, Madam…" he began, but she cut him off by placing her index finger over his lips. "Shh," she said. "Call me Ruth, my Duke. Only Ruth." Then she began undoing the buttons on his shirt. A choked noise from the hallway caught his attention and he looked over his shoulder, trying to still the invading fingers from entering the sanctity of his shirt. He knew, even before turning, that it would be her. True enough, Anita stood about six feet away from him, shock making her eyes wide. For once, without him making her, she stared straight into his eyes for more than ten seconds without flinching. Then the tray in her hands trembled and she turned to walk away quickly. "Don't pay her any attention, lovely," Madam Ruth said, her painted fingernails turning his head back to her. But his attention was still with the shock-ridden girl. He had to go to her. He had to set her straight. He didn't want this woman. Jay peeled the Madam off him, giving her his best smile and telling her that he had to attend to a matter of utter importance. He could see the hurt in her eyes, and placed a kiss on her cheek for good measure before turning away from her. He left her staring at him as he followed Anita back to the kitchen. * Since she didn't know that she was being followed, Anita set the silver tray on the counter with unsteady hands and took deep, settling breaths. All she could see was the Madam with her dress undone and crawling all over the duke. A sting to her heart caught her by surprise, as did the flood of tears that rose to her eyes. Why did she feel so utterly betrayed? What had she expected from a white man? He might call her beautiful, even acted like he cared for her, but that didn't mean he was interested in her for anything more than… sex. She'd just swiped at a tear when she heard him clearing his throat behind her. She turned all too quickly, not wanting to believe that he'd really left Madam's embrace to come after her. But there he was, with his shirt still unbuttoned and his broad shoulders blocking the doorway. She hoped her eyes weren't becoming puffy as they usually did when she cried. She didn't want to let this man know that she was a little fond of him. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, her voice hoarse. "I shouldn't have interrupted you." Jay crossed his arms over his chest and stared, amazed at the woman in front of him. Her eyes were downcast again, and he couldn't gauge her reaction to what she'd seen. "No," he said slowly. "I'm actually pretty glad that you did." Anita started. He was glad? Why was he glad? Oh, she was so confused! One moment he called her beautiful, and the next, he had the Madam half naked and in his arms. One moment he made her feel so special, and the next, like some cheap, second-rate good. She needed to think. Somewhere away from this man, where she couldn't feel his gaze on her, or smell him, or… "Anita?" "Sir?" "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm glad?" Her eyes skimmed over him, then returned to the floor. "Um, all right. Why are you glad?" "Because you saved me from that wanton woman." A corner of his lips tilted upward. "I'd been trying to think of a way to convey my disinterest, but she hadn't been picking up on the signs at all. Thank god you came in and gave me a leeway to leave, if not I would've probably had the longest shower in history, trying to get the smell of her off my skin." "Oh." So he hadn't wanted to bed Madam Ruth? There was a moment of silence as Anita internalized that statement. "Aren't you going to ask me why I'm not interested in her?" All right, she would. "Why aren't you interested in her?" He leaned against the doorjamb, his voice deepening. "Because she's nothing compared to you." Her eyes met his, and he could tell she was trying desperately to understand. He took a step toward her. "Every time she flicked at her hair through dinner, I thought about yours. About how I can never decide if your hair is black or brown. Then she would stare straight at me and lick her lips, and I would think how sweetly curved yours are. She'd bat her eyelashes at me, and I would wonder about the way your eyes change colors with your mood." He shook his head. "She's in no position to compete with you, sweetheart." Her chest felt tight. If she hadn't felt attractive before, she did so now. She was also sure that her face had heated because of his words. How could he stand in front of her, calm and unaffected, while she felt like she was caught in an inferno? She was so confused; everything was muddled. What was he saying? What did he want from her? Jay had to strain to hear her words. "W-what're you saying?" He smiled. "You really don't know, do you?" She shook her head. "I just want to know…" He took another step towards her and she pressed her back tightly against the counter. "You want to know?" Her voice grew softer, if that were humanly possible. "I want to know what you want from me." He took another step forward until he stood directly in front of her. Her eyes were slightly red-rimmed and she looked like she was going to cry. "Would you, now, sweetheart?" he asked her just as softly, a smile flirting with his lips. He reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear. He felt the shiver run through her body as though it was his own. "I would-." His lips covered hers so quickly that she didn't have time to move away even if she'd wanted to. Her eyes were wide, staring into his, as she felt the unusual, but not uncomfortable slide of his lips against hers. Her palms came up instinctively to push him away but he deepened the kiss, and the friction of his lips against hers became delicious, almost exquisite, chipping away at her apprehensions. Why should she not do this? she asked herself. She was twenty-three and unmarried. A spinster in the village. The duke would probably be the only man who'd ever touch her. Why should she resist him when she didn't want to? If she were being extremely honest with herself, she'd realize that this was what she thought about when she had time to herself during the day. But she hadn't known then that his touch, his kiss would be this sinful, but she gladly let go of her girlish fantasies as she learned more about it firsthand. She could not help but sigh into his mouth when his thumbs gently stroked her jawline. Her eyes fluttered closed as he melded his body with hers, trapping her against the counter. Her palms moved up to curve about his neck, holding on to him for the journey he was taking her on. And then, his tongue slid into her mouth and all awareness left her body. She let out a low whimper when an arrow of desire sprang from their fused lips and shot through the heart of her femininity. A sinful feeling was curling in her belly, and every time he flicked his tongue against hers, she felt it wind tighter. The feeling was unlike anything she'd ever experienced before. She loved it. She loved his hands on her, she loved his smell, she loved his lips, she loved his kiss. Gods, she wanted more. Jay groaned when he felt her tongue slide shyly to duel with his. His hands dropped from her cheeks to her waist and he lifted her effortlessly onto the counter. In that new position, he continued to taste every inch of her delectable mouth, glorying in her uninhibited responses. When it was imperative that they both breathe, he pulled away slightly to run his teeth over the fullness of her bottom lip. Then he placed small, moist kisses on her lips, chuckling when she leaned forward for more. "That's what I want," he whispered between kisses, remembering that he was supposed to answer her question. Her eyes slid open. They were dazed, as were his, and had turned a startling silver-blue color. He felt himself reacting to the undisguised lust in her eyes, and hoped that his trousers would hold. "You want it, too," he said, his fingers working her hair loose. Her eyes closed once again as he threaded his fingers through it. He thought heard a purr. "Yes." It was a whisper, but it was her own. There was a pleasant, irresistible hum in her blood. His hands were working magic on her scalp, and his lips never left hers. The taste of him lingered on her lips, heady and addictive. But even as the shivers of passion stole through her body, she knew there was more to all of this, other than kissing. Her fingers were tugging on his hair in a silent entreaty for more. Her breath was warm on his lips, and he couldn't think clearly. All he wanted to do was pull her dress up over her hips and take her on the counter as she moaned in his ear, plunging deeper, deeper, until she screamed. The almost-animalistic thought shook him, and when her fingernails dug into his neck, the pinprick of pain nearly made him snap. "Do you know what you do to me, Anita?" he murmured against her lips, grabbing both her hands and holding them still. Her eyes remained closed as she shook her head. He guided her hand to his heart, letting her feel the intensity of its beat. "You make me forget everything that's been bred into me from birth, sweetheart. You make me crazy." He saw a small smile appear on her lips and let her hand go. "Now, is that amusing to you?" She shook her head. "It feels like a dream," she said, then corrected herself. "No, I've never even dreamt that any man would say that to me. No man's ever wanted me before. It's so new. I never…I just… thank you." He smiled as he rested his forehead against hers. "Then men around here must be both stupid and blind, Anita. It's nothing but their loss, since I have you now." Since I have you now. He stroked her cheek before cupping it and sipping at her lips again. His tongue skimmed back and forth until hers curled over his. Then his teeth gently rasped her tongue, and she could do nothing but whimper with desire. If, a few minutes ago, anyone had told her that such a pleasure existed in the world, she would never have believed them. Now she was aching for it, wanted more of it. Her arms made to curl tighter around his neck, and she moaned in protest when he gently disentangled her arms from him. "Slowly, baby," he said, and she trembled from the endearment. "I want you to think about this, about us, and I'll see you in the morning." Before she could say anything, he pressed one last kiss to her wet lips before pulling back, setting her on the floor and strode from the room. Anita watched him leave, feeling an emptiness she'd never felt before. There was a tingle on her lips, and she knew that they were probably swollen from his kisses. She raised two fingers to them. Yes, definitely swollen. But the slight pain didn't stop her from smiling like an idiot as she cleared the tray of whiskey, locked the house, bathed, and went to bed. * Hope you're enjoying this! Don't forget to vote & comment! <3 Lily. By the Bay Ch. 04 © Lily Rockmore Self-edited again. Please ignore the careless errors! Thanks for reading! Meera hurried across the port with her sari drawn up over her hair and face so that no one would recognize her. It was past midnight, and she was terribly late in meeting Rae because Anita had taken a dastardly long time to go to bed. And of all nights, Meera had picked tonight to cajole Rae into bringing her to the Goldsmith. It had always been a fantasy of hers, to see the inside of the tavern, especially when there was such scandalous talk about the place. Music of all kinds, dancers… and even naked women. Meera didn't know why she was so curious about the place, but she was. She'd been so excited when Rae had consented to taking her there. She took the shortcut to the far side of the island, running between trees and small huts until she saw the torch-lit glow of the tavern as it sat nestled between a large rock and the end of the port. Even from a distance, she could hear bawdy laughter and loud island music. They made her blood hum instantly. Her eyes roved the small establishment for the familiar figure she had been so intent on seeing, but there was no one leaning casually against the entrance or standing anywhere near it. Perhaps Rae had already gone in. A second later, she denied that possibility; Rae would never do that to her. She pulled the sari more tightly about herself and decided to walk around the place to look for Rae. Meera doubted that she had enough courage to go into the Goldsmith herself if Rae wasn't there with her. She'd just turned a corner when a hand emerged from nowhere and covered her mouth. Another hand encircled her waist, and before Meera could react, a familiar voice told her to hush. She sighed with relief behind the hand and pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of Rae's palm. She heard a soft chuckle, then the hand on her waist tightened as both of them saw several Malay men trudge out of the forest through the same path Meera had used a few minutes ago. "They were following you. Ever since you strayed from the port." Meera didn't know what to say. She should have been more careful. "Oh." "Little idiot. You came this close to being raped, possibly even killed tonight. Didn't I tell you that this was a bad idea?" "But I've always wanted to see this place, Rae. You promised to take me." "Yes, and I am going to. Just make sure I don't regret it." Meera grinned, reaching up to tug on the dark cap that Rae always wore to hide the long, red hair. "I'm sorry I was late today." "Sister slept late?" "Unfortunately." "S'ok. We've got the rest of the night, don't we?" Meera rested her head on her lover's shoulder, sighing with contentment. "That we do." * Rae stared down at the compact bundle of sensuality, feeling her insides quiver with want for this girl. She'd never met anyone like Meera, and that statement counted for much, for she'd been to places where exotic women were common as dirt. But there'd been something always so special about Meera, something intangible. Like her spirit, or her courage. The first time they'd met, she'd been throwing rocks at two boys who were getting handsy with her. They'd run off when Rae had stepped in, having just got off from the ship that had brought her from England, lured by the furious blonde girl in a tattered green sari. It hadn't taken her long to make friends. Once Meera had found that Rae meant her no harm, and that she was distinctly female, she loosened up and began talking to her like one would to a friend. It had been this friendship that had Rae meeting her everyday after school – just to talk, nothing else. If both of them had felt the sexual tension in the air, they ignored it, until a couple of days ago. Rae had always known she was homosexual. As a kid, she'd thought boys were fair game…for a round of soccer. She'd always treated females with utmost care, for even if she thought them pretty, she could never relate to their girlish ideas about princes or unicorns or large palaces. She'd never really fit in or made friends with anyone except the boys around the townhouse where she lived with her mother. Then one day, as a girl of fourteen, her mother had dragged her along to shop for dresses in town, when Ruby had told her to wait in the dressmaker's shop while she went down to the post-office to check for letters. Shrugging, Rae had been eager to step into the shop to avoid the cold, but as she'd entered the shop, a reflection in the large mirror had her transfixed. Madame Audrey, the Frenchwoman who ran the shop, had another woman pressed against the wall in the fitting room. There was a mirror reflecting what they were doing, and what Rae saw was… life-altering. It didn't take long for Rae to learn and experiment, and since then, she'd been through countless women, coming to love the exquisite ecstasy of another woman's silky fingertips and the sweet scent of female skin. It was something that her mother did not know of. Ruby still thought that Rae was at school, whereas school had ended several months prior to this. Rae had been home for a few weeks, as she would have if school had not ended, just to seem as though nothing was amiss. In her free time and with the inheritance her late father had left her, Rae had spent a few months in Egypt and was now touring the Malayan Straits. Beauties she'd seen, but none were as captivating as Meera. But of course, such perfection had to come with a price. This blasted sister of hers was being a thorn in Rae's side. Given half the chance, Rae would bundle Meera up and bring her to places around the world that Rae was dying to see. "What're you thinking?" Meera asked, her breath caressing Rae's shoulders. "About how I'd like to take you to see the world." Meera exhaled deeply. "We've had this discussion before." Rae rolled her eyes. "Yes, yes. Your sister is important to you." "Why do you say it that way? Aren't your kin important to you as well?" "They are. But I don't let them rule my life." "You mean your parents are perfectly fine with you traveling on your own? Don't you feel indebted enough to stay and take care of them?" Meera would've pulled away, but Rae's arms tightened about her. "First of all, my sexy lady, my mother was my father's mistress. And second of all, my mother doesn't know I'm not safely tucked away at school. And third, I don't plan on telling her." Meera's eyes widened. "But that's horrible!" Rae's teeth flashed in the dark. "I know." "Aren't you worried about her?" Rae's fingers ran through Meera's hair, picking out the slight tangles. "Sometimes, I am. But I know she can take care of herself." She paused. "Can't your sister take care of herself?" Meera shook her head, still adamant. "She's all I have, Rae. Family's important to me." There was that sigh again, as though Rae had admitted defeat. "I'm sorry," Meera said softly, and Rae didn't know if she should laugh or cry. "It's not your fault, Meera. I just want you to know that I'll stay as long as I can." Meera's eyes glimmered in the dark. "That's enough for me." Rae pressed a kiss to her lover's forehead, then playfully smacked her bottom. Meera yelped, then giggled. "That's enough putting it off. Are you man enough to go in there with me or what?" "Oh, I'm as manly as you are, Catherine Mae Harding. Even more so!" That earned her another thwack on her bum. * "Oh my god! Look at that woman! She's almost naked!" Clutching Rae's arm, Meera tried to get a better look at that woman from behind the taller woman's back. She felt Rae's shoulder's move as she chuckled at Meera's awed voice. "C'mere," Rae said, pulling Meera to stand beside her. The tavern was not crowded, but it had enough people to make Meera wary of detection. She knew of a few relatives who visited establishments like these. Being spotted by them would be the death of her… not to mention Anita. "Shh," Rae said when Meera protested. "No one can see us. The lights are on the other side of the room." Meera folded her hands over Rae's as they rested on her waist. "Are you sure?" Rae pressed a kiss to the top of the mass of golden curls. "Yes." With the fear of being identified now pushed to the back of her mind, Meera took her time in perusing the scene around her. She wanted to commit every single detail to memory so that she could write about it or use it in one of her stories. The dark room, lit only by torches, would be a great place for black market dealings or for a particularly exciting part of the novel to be set in. There were several semi-naked women flaunting their best assets in the establishment. Most were Chinese, and had such pale skin that it almost seemed to glow under the low light. There were a few women of Malay and Indian descent, but they were otherwise occupied by the men seated around tables, who toyed with them whilst waiting for their drinks or meal to be served. "People seem happy here," she muttered to Rae, who'd begun swaying them slightly to the beat of the drums that were playing in the background. "Men are always happy when they're apart from their wives," came the sarcastic comment. "But the women… they seem to like entertaining men that way." "Does that surprise you? These women don't have to answer to any one man. They have the protection of many, but don't have to be loyal to any one." "And the price of that would be…" "…to spread their legs for them, probably once or twice a week." Meera shivered delicately and tightened her hold on Rae. "That's disgusting. I don't know if I'd be able to tolerate that." "Lucky for you, you don't have to." Meera grinned. "You won't let me?" Rae rolled her eyes. "No, silly. You actually have an education, remember? You don't have to resort to this." Meera's smile melted. "Oh." Rae gave Meera's waist a tiny squeeze. "Are you brave enough to move from this spot, yet? I actually bribed a boy to clear us a table at the other end of the room." "What if someone sees me, Rae?" Meera asked, fear returning again. "You can always deny it was you. After all, most men here are already bloody drunk." Meera internalized that statement and nodded slowly. That seemed like a pretty good idea. "Let's go," she whispered, and Rae took her hand, leading her towards their table. * "What're you drinking?" Meera asked when Rae lifted the wooden cup to her lips. They were seated at one end of the small establishment, cuddled on a stone bench. From this new vantage point, Meera could see that there were actually two floors to the tavern, and that there were several rooms on the second floor. It wasn't difficult to figure out what the rooms were for, and she blushed when a door to one of them was opened and a couple exited, righting their clothes. Rae's voice had her attention again. "It's island rum. I'm not offering it to you because it's strong, so don't ask," Rae said quickly when Meera's face lit up. "Oh, come on, Rae. I just want to try it. You can try mine." "Yours is tea, Meera." But Rae consented to a sip anyway. "I think that just burned my insides," Meera commented, making a face. Then she smacked her lips together. "But it does taste good." Rae just shook her head. There was a commotion a the entrance of the Goldsmith's, then the crowd hushed as a trio of women sauntered into the room, wearing what Meera supposed was a shredded sari blouse and a long skirt. The skirts were worn ridiculously low, exposing their hip bones, and their breasts were almost falling out of their blouses. "Oh my," Meera breathed, putting her legs up on the bench and moving closer to Rae. Her companion chuckled, draping an arm around Meera. "Are they going to dance?" Meera asked when the beat of the drums changed. "I think so. Don't get squeamish. You're the one who wanted to come here in the first place." "I'm not squeamish! I'm excited. Now hush. It's starting." Rae shook her head at Meera again, leisurely pulling her fingers through the soft volume of curls that she couldn't seem to keep away from. Meera rested her head on Rae's shoulder as she watched the women spread themselves out to various corners of the room. One of the women came to stand near Rae's side, and Meera stared up at her with innocent eyes. The woman smiled down at her before giving her a sly little wink. Blushing, Meera held onto Rae tightly, but didn't take her eyes of the woman. She couldn't decipher the ethnicity of the woman before her, but her skin was a light brown, as were her eyes. Her hair was a dark, chestnut color, and they fell in smooth waves down her back. The red skirt that she wore clung to her hips and emphasized the flatness of her stomach. Meera thought she looked undoubtedly sensual. Then, slowly, as the drums began to increase in tempo, the woman's hips began to move. Meera sat up abruptly, rapping Rae in the chin. "Ouch, shit. What is it?" "Look at her hips, Rae!" Rae glanced at the woman beside her, her hips gyrating to the quick drum beats. Upon visiting Egypt, Rae had seen countless belly dancers, and this woman was just one of many. But to Meera, who was seeing the exotic dance for the first time, she had to appear like some sort of sex goddess. "How does she do that?" Meera whispered to Rae as the woman turned in a circle, her hips forming little circles of its own. Little beads on the woman's ensemble jiggled, jumping with every thrust of the woman's hip. Meera was enthralled by the whole process. How anyone could move their hips in that manner was beyond her. "It's rather easy, actually," Rae whispered back. "It can't be," Meera replied, her eyes never leaving the woman. When the woman's eyes caught hers, Meera felt a blush creep into her cheeks again. "Yes, it is. You do that every time we make love." Meera's shocked eyes turned to meet Rae's. "I do?" "Do you want me to prove it to you?" Rae hands inched upwards from where it lay at Meera's waist. "No, no. We're in public, Rae!" "No one will see us." "Oh, stop it." The words were said without compunction, for the woman in front of them had taken to rotating her hips in the most sensual manner. "She's so…" Meera fumbled for the right word. "Sexy?" Rae supplied. "Yes. Yes, that's a good word." The woman slowly turned to them, and Rae slanted a smile at her, widening the gap between her legs. Taking the cue, the woman sidled towards them, her generous breasts bouncing enticingly as she shimmied forward. Meera sat up straight on the seat and frowned as the woman perched herself on Rae's thigh. There was a very welcoming smile on Rae's lips, and Rae didn't push the woman away when she wrapped her arms around the taller woman's neck. Meera was shocked. How could Rae have one woman on her lap and hold another by the waist? There was a sting of anger in the pit of her stomach, and she tried to pull away, but upon receiving the cue from Rae, the woman in red made a grab for her hand. "Dance with me," she said, her voice breathy, seductive, and Meera lost the steady build-up of anger that had been in her blood. "B-but I don't know how!" Uncaring of Meera's resistance, the woman pulled her close, slipping an arm around her waist and moving her hips against Meera's. "Now move your hips. No, no, to the side. Yesss. I knew you'd be able to dance the moment I saw you." Meera laughed, feeling slightly light-headed by that comment. Her hips seemed to be moving of their own volition, the muscles in her belly quivering to the beat of the drums. The semi-naked woman led her in the most sensual of dances and took every opportunity to brush herself against the sensitive areas on Meera's body. When the woman's hands found her bottom, Meera jumped but did not stop the movement of her hips. The woman leaned close, smelling of musk, and breathed in Meera's ear. "Dance for your man, beautiful. His eyes haven't left your body since you started, and I'm the one dancing half-naked." Her breathy laughter was followed by a kiss to Meera's cheek, then she turned away to entertain the other customers. True enough, when Meera turned to Rae, her eyes were glued to Meera's rotating hips. Meera shimmied forward as she'd seen the other woman do, lifting her hands to accompany the leg movement. She moved until she stood between Rae's legs, then she began undulating her hips to and fro. Without pausing, she let one hand drop to pull her sari up over her shoulder so that her hips could be seen more clearly. Then with a distinctly feline smile, she twirled her hips faster, running her hands over her breasts and into her unbound hair. Rae was burning up inside. This girl was just full of surprises. One moment she was the shy girl hiding in the crook of Rae's arm, and the next, she was belly dancing sensually in front of her. It was a game of seduction she played, Rae knew, and it was working. Ever since the other woman had made Meera start dancing, Rae had been lost. When Meera began undulating her torso, Rae recognized it as the last straw. She stood, grabbing the smaller woman by the waist and headed for the exit. Meera laughed, and it was a laugh that neither of them recognized, for it was tinged with such satisfaction. She managed to wave her farewell to the woman in red before Rae dragged her out the door. * Jay was up earlier than usual the next morning. He hadn't slept a full hour the whole night, his body restless, still waiting. He briefly considered taking care of business himself, but he wanted to wait. It would make desire sharper for the both of them, he knew. And he wanted to have as much passion as he could for Anita if it was going to be her first time. Slipping into a sweater and a pair of baggy pants, he decided to work his energy off with a morning run. It had been a while since he'd gotten up early for exercise, and he supposed, in a way, he felt the strain of it now. He jogged downstairs and decided to get a glass of water first before heading out. He'd just scooped a glassful of water out of a clay container when he heard an audible click from the servant's quarters. Lifting the glass to his lips, he took two steps back so that he'd be able to see into the narrow corridor to the right. Very quickly, he saw the tail end of a pink sari disappear behind one of the doors. He didn't know whose room it was, but even if he did, he presumed that the person had probably gone out for… a breath of fresh air? It wasn't his business anyway. Shrugging, he set his glass apart from the others to show that it had been used, before taking off for some much-needed exercise. * Anita yawned and turned over in bed to stare at the ceiling. She'd been awake all night, simply thinking about the future. From her musings, she'd come to four conclusions. The first was that she wanted the Duke, but she would only take him if he respected her enough to handle her gently. She didn't want to be a replica of her mother, who more than oftentimes bore bruises and sore wounds from her escapades. She also needed to warn the Duke that she would leave him if he ever got married. Again, she didn't want to be like her mother and have women hate her for stealing their husbands. Thirdly, she didn't want Meera to know of her relationship with the Duke if it progressed. It was a horrible example for her sister, but Anita knew she that even so, she had to make this one decision for personal happiness and contentment. If she didn't do so, a few years from now, the Duke would be long gone, and Meera would have her own brood of children and looking back, Anita would realize that she'd never lived her life. She didn't want to end up that way, so she wanted to create memories of things she could look back on later in life. But either way, Meera should not even suspect that Anita was being intimate with the Duke. By the Bay Ch. 04 And four, she'd visit the little old lady in the market who sold herbs that prevented unwanted conceptions. If she were to be involved with the Duke, she didn't want a child brought into the complexity of matters. A child should grow up with love from both parents, and because Anita couldn't provide a child with that blessing, she didn't think she should subject a child to that kind of life. Moreover, she wasn't exactly ready for a child with the Duke, especially since she didn't exactly know him… Which came to the point about his first name. She'd been calling him 'the Duke' in her head for more than two weeks now, and it was just last night when she realized she didn't know his first name. She laughed when she realized she'd let a man kiss her when she didn't even know his name. She made a mental note to ask him as soon as she could. The small clock on the bedside table told her it was past six, time for her to start breakfast. She was making something special for the Duke today, and she hoped he'd like it. Sliding out of bed, she took her neatly pressed dress out of the small cupboard and laid it across the bed. Then, as quickly as possible, before the morning chill could penetrate her bones, she shed her sari and slipped the dress over her head. Safely bundled in the white dress, she reached for the ornate comb on the dresser. The silver comb was the only thing that was left of her mother; it had been a gift from one of her lovers, and Anita didn't want to think of the price her mother had paid for it. But she kept it because she wanted some material memory of her mother. Putting her hair up in a bun, she washed her face in the basin of water she kept on the small table in the room. She wiped the excess water from her face, and reached for the little bottle of jasmine water. She had made it herself by crushing jasmine flowers pilfered from the garden in warm water. Finding that there was only precious little of it left, she reminded herself that she would need to make some more before she went to bed that night. The smell of jasmine always made her feel womanly, and Anita liked that feeling. Then, before she forgot, she took the tiny pottu off the looking glass she'd stuck it on last night and placed it on the centre of her forehead. There, she was done with her morning toilette. She folded her sari and placed it across the chair before heading out of the room. There was water running in the bath, and she supposed either Meera or Nanthini was awake, a rarity, as both of them tended to sleep in 'til after seven. She'd just set the pan to heat on the kerosene stove when she heard the front door bang shut. Startled and thinking that it was an intruder, she reached for the large wooden spoon as she'd done on the night when she'd first met the Duke, but soon saw that there was no need for it. Sweaty and stained with sand, he walked into the dining room, leaving a fine mess behind him. She cocked her head to the side and watched him trudge across the floor, seemingly unaware of the mess he was creating. When Jay spotted her staring at him from the kitchen, her head tilted to the side, her body wrapped in that tight little dress of hers, he couldn't help but smile. She always made him happy to see her, regardless of the time. Before he entered the kitchen though, he gained enough forethought to look down at himself. His sweater was drenched, plastered to his body from perspiration. His pants were covered with a fine layer of sand from having done sit-ups on the beach. He realized that in his current state, he shouldn't go near her, for he'd probably worked up quite a smell as well. The stench would probably make her not want to come near him ever again. "I should probably take a bath," he said, raising his eyes from his self-perusal. "That would be indeed a fine idea, sir," she replied with a smile tilting the corners of her lips. He retraced his footsteps back to the foyer, calling: "I'll be back in a bit." Anita simply shook her head and returned to making breakfast. * She was nearly done with breakfast when he came bounding down the stairs, his wet hair raining droplets of water onto his blue shirt. As usual, he ran a hair over it when he passed the mirror in the foyer, but as usual, it did nothing to tame his curls. Shrugging, and thinking that Anita would just have to put up with his messy hair, he walked into the kitchen and settled himself on one of the stools. There was an inviting smell emanating from the stove, and he felt like a fat toddler waiting to be fed a treat. Smoke filled the room as she took a pot off the stove and set the dish aside to cool. Giving him a smile, she brushed past him to grab plates from the cupboard. When she returned, he was ready, and caught her by the waist before she could bypass him. "Oh!" Thrown off by the sudden contact – not that she hadn't expected it, really – she held the glass plates up so that they wouldn't get caught in the tussle. "Aren't you going to say good morning?" he asked with a devilish twinkle in his eyes. He tilted his head to get his forelocks out of his eyes, and Anita thought the action was adorable. "Good morning," she said, internally wondering how many more minutes she had until the curry boiled over. "Did you think about me last night?" As if I could do much else, Anita thought wryly. "Yes, I did, sir." He frowned, then shook his head with a small smile. "We've got to do away with the formalities, Anita. If you continue calling me 'sir', I'll take to calling you 'miss'. How'd you like that?" She laughed. "Won't that be really odd?" "Exactly. So what have you decided?" Just then, they heard water a door slam and Anita pulled away from him abruptly. She stood awkwardly with the heavy plates still in her hands. "Could we speak at length after I send my sister to school?" "Of course." "Thank you." She turned away to wash the plates in a basin of water before wiping them off with a towel. Opening the pot she'd let cool, she took out something white from it and placed it on the plate. It looked like a large, flimsy, white disk. Jay peered curiously at it as she added a spoonful of sugar to the side of the plate and poured curry into a small bowl. "There you go," she said, setting the plate in front of him. Up close, the dish looked like a complex cobweb, but a sticky mass of it. "I'm not sure how to translate it into English, but in Tamil, it's called Idiyappam. I don't know if you'll like it, but go ahead. Try it." He reached for the fork and knife that were set in a cluster in the middle of the table, and Anita nearly chuckled at the thought of someone using utensils to eat Idiyappam. She'd never seen it being done before. "Akka!" she heard Meera call from the next room. Anita spun around quickly, as though she'd been caught doing something that she shouldn't have done. "'Ka, I'm leaving," Meera called as she walked into the kitchen, books in hand. She stopped short when she saw Jay sitting at the kitchen table. "Um, hold on," Anita said to fill in the void of silence that followed. "I'll pack your lunch." Jay was the first to say good morning and break the silence. The young girl returned it a little grudgingly. There was something in her gaze that he thought wasn't quite right. It was as though she hated him for reasons unknown. "Here," Anita said, handing Meera a silver lunch box. "What time will you be home today?" Meera's gaze left the man so comfortably sitting in the kitchen, to land on Anita. She spoke in her own tongue. "I'll be home before dinner. I'm going to write for a bit." Anita smiled. She liked it when her sister mentioned her educational endeavors. It was comforting, in a way. "That's good. Don't be late, though." Meera returned her sister's smile. "I won't. I'll see you in the evening?" Anita said her farewells to her sister before turning back to the Duke. He still hadn't touched his food and was frowning in the general direction Meera had been standing in. "Is something wrong?" Anita asked, suddenly concerned. "I think so. Does your sister hate me?" The way he'd phrased his question made her laugh. "Why do you ask?" "Didn't you see the way she stared at me? If only hate could kill." Anita chuckled again. That was a rather amusing way to describe Meera's attitude towards men. "Well, it's not you, really..." "That's good to know." "…it's just that she doesn't like men in general. They've given her grief all her life." "That's rather comforting, thank you. She looks like she could murder me in my sleep." "She won't, I promise you. She just thinks that all men are pigs who only have one thing on their minds. I don't blame her. She's been attacked and proposed to by more than a decent number of men." "And what does she do to the lot of them?" "Attack them with anything handy." This time, both of them laughed. Anita realized that she like the sound of their laughter together. It had a good ring to it. "Aren't you going to eat?" Anita diverted the conversation away from her sister. It felt strange talking about her when she wasn't there. "Yes, after I've figured out how to." Anita deduced that laughter was a common thing around this man. "Try using your fingers." Jay set his utensils down and began picking at the webby mass by the tips of his fingertips. Watching him fumble with the wriggly dish, Anita offered to help. She washed her hands in a basin before coming to stand beside him. Nimbly, she used her thumb and forefinger to tear a bite-sized portion from the disk. She was about to pull away after having shown him how to tear off small pieces of the dish, when he held her to him again, his forearm resting comfortably on her waist. "Yes?" She smiled down at him with an amused smile. He nudged the wrist that she'd laid on his shoulder. Shaking her head, she reached down, picked up the piece she'd torn for him, dipped it in the colored sugar and raised it to his lips. His stare was decidedly sensual as he took the offering between his teeth and began chewing. Then his expression changed on the third bite. "This is delicious," he said, looking down at the Idiyappam once again. He couldn't believe that such a plain-looking thing had so much flavor. "Thank you," she replied, making a move to pull away, but he caught her to him again. This time, she landed effectively across his lap. "What are you doing?" Wriggling, but laughing at the same time, she tried to get up, but he held her there, seated on his lap. "I like you this way," he replied. Anita was eye-level to him now and most definitely close enough to kiss. Perhaps they could have her 'discussion' this way. If she had any qualms, he'd certainly know how to answer them. She reached for the plate again and tore off a piece of the dish, coated it with sugar and offered it to him. His eyes never left hers as he chewed, his index finger slowly traveling across her abdomen while his other arm held her in place across his lap. "You wanted to talk to me?" he reminded her when he felt her tremble slightly. The laughter seemed to fade from her eyes, and together with it, his self-assurance. He'd been almost confident that she was growing to like him just a little bit – hell, she wouldn't have let him pull her across his lap if she didn't – but what if there was something that-. "I…I have a few conditions if this is really what you want," she said softly, raising her hand to dust orange sugar off his cheek. He caught her hand and kissed the back of her palm. "How could you doubt it?" She smiled, and two little dimples appeared by the corners of her mouth. He realized that she had to smile in a certain manner for them to appear. But when they did, she looked more beautiful than words could describe. "You have dimples," he said, his gaze flicking from her lips to her eyes. "I noticed them the first time you smiled at me. They don't appear when you laugh, just when you smile." Her eyes, too, fell to his lips, unbidden. Oh, he was melting her with his words, every one of them sweet as honey. She wanted to savor them, drown in them, remember them so she could repeat them to herself when she grew old. They were beautiful words, just like the beautiful man that held her. "I wish I could say something as sweet, too," she replied honestly. "But nothing comes to mind at the moment." He stared at her unblinkingly for long seconds before he threw his head back and laughed. "Did I say something wrong?" After gaining some semblance of control, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her waist. "No, no, though only the lord knows why I don't feel insulted. Out of all my masculine attributes, you couldn't find one to praise me about?" "Oh." She felt heat rise to her cheeks. "I didn't mean in that way." "In what way did you mean it, then?" She leaned back against him, tilting her head to the side so she looked at him with her head on his shoulder. "I was being honest." "I know you were. I shouldn't have laughed." His fingers found hers and began fiddling with them. Her fingers were long and thin. And very, very calloused. "It's all right," she said, equally enthralled by the tingling feeling that spread through her arms from his touch. His fingers looked so pale next to hers, but it was a good pale. Golden pale. She decided she like that. "I should feel uncomfortable," she confessed moments later. "Why?" "Because you take such liberties with me." She felt him stiffen slightly and looked up to find him staring at her. The look in his eyes was almost unreadable. "I should feel uncomfortable, but I'm not," she hastened to add. "You've always been so gentle with me that I don't find a need to make you let me go, sometimes. Though I know you should." "Really?" His fingers interlaced with hers and rested on her stomach. He watched her watch their fingers. "Yes, really. The current situation being a perfect example." "Do you want me to let you go?" They tilted their faces to the side at the same moment. They were so close that if she leaned forward just a bit, her lips would touch his. She smelled the soap on his skin, the heat through his shirt and the steady beat of his heart. There was desire in his eyes, bold and titillating, and she reacted to it, her heartbeat doubling, feeling the joy of being wanted take over. "No," she whispered against his lips. His fingers tightened their hold on hers and Anita felt goosebumps spread over her arms. She could almost feel his lips on hers, hovering, hovering, when footsteps sounded from the servant's quarters. He didn't know she could move that fast. But one moment she was on his lap and the next, she was standing by the stove, her eyes wide and staring in the direction of the noise. He groaned and rested his cheek on his palm, frustration gaining the upper hand in him. That was the second time that someone interrupted them today. He thought wryly that he'd have to kidnap her to a hidden alcove so he could get his fill of her. Thank god there were many alcoves on the island. The squirrel maid appeared in the doorway, her face bright and scrubbed. She didn't notice him, but chirped something to Anita, who returned it half-heartedly. Then she spotted him lounging on his stool and gave him a sloppy curtsy. He smiled at her, trying his best not to shout at her to go away. "Um, 'Ka, I'm going to the market to get some chicken and vegetables. Do you need anything that I could get while I'm there?" Nathini's eyes bobbed from Jay to Anita and back. Anita hoped there wasn't any visible signs of their – what could she call it? – cuddling, on her body. "No, but I thank you," Nanthini replied in the English that she was accustomed to. Anita turned back to the Duke. "Do you need anything, sir?" "No, but I thank you," Jay replied, mimicking Nanthini's earlier words without lifting his head. The reply caught her by surprise and she struggled to keep her laughter from embarrassing everyone in the room. "Enjoy your breakfast, then, sir." She gave him a quick curtsy. "'Ka, I'll be back in about an hour or so." Anita exited the room, leaving him to stare at the squirrel maid. She gave him a rather motherly smile and grabbed the broom from the cupboard before going into the dining room. Jay sighed, looking down at his food. It didn't seem very appealing all of a sudden. * She grabbed the little basket by the back door and made her way across the open space of the backyard before exiting the house through the rear gate. Her mind was still on the conversation that she'd tried to have with the Duke. If only Nanthini hadn't intervened when she had, the hunger that had been stewing inside her from last night would have abated at least a little. Now it still churned in her stomach, making her release a frustrated groan. Walking in the direction of the bayside market, she counted the coins in her hands. There was still a little more than a week 'til she earned her first month's salary, but she didn't feel the monetary strain whilst working for the Duke. Whatever she needed, she was already provided. The only extra money she needed was for Meera's school fees – which, Meera had told her, was only going to be for two months more – and extra expenditures like the one she was going to make today. After a long, painful time, she actually felt some sort of security. There was a strong roof over her head and food for every meal. She couldn't ask for more. The house was out of view now, but she still had a ten minute walk to the market. Humming, she hooked the basket on the crook of her arm and tucked the coins back into the pouch at her waist. She'd just turned a corner when she heard footsteps behind her. Even without turning, she knew it would be him. He was looking at the forest that lined one part of the path they were taking, whistling to himself, his hands deep in his pockets. When she turned around to look at him, he pretended to be shocked by her presence. "Anita," he said. "What are you doing here?" When she laughed and strode towards him, he backed away with a look of horror. "Are you following me?" Since it was so obvious that he was the one following her, she laughed so hard that her stomach hurt. He walked over to her and plucked the market bag out of her hands while she was still laughing and didn't have the breath to protest. "I'm glad I amuse you," he said as they walked side by side to the market. She couldn't get rid of the grin on her face. "I am, too," she admitted. They walked in silence for a while, her occasional snicker the only thing that marred the quiet. Then they reached the beach and he turned to look at her. "Did you want to tell me something before we, um, got sidetracked?" Her features took on the serious expression again. A frown creased her forehead, and he resisted the urge to smooth it away. "Yes, I did. I have a few conditions that I would like you to respect if we ever… you know…" She bit her lip. "Be intimate?" Heat rose to her cheeks again. She was definitely not her mother's daughter. "Yes, that." "And what would those be?" She turned to start walking toward the market again. "Well, umm, would you let me say it all before you speak?" He followed her. "Yes, of course." There was a hollow log lying at the point where the beach met grass. She went over to sit, and he sat beside her, testing the stability of the wood. He was still rocking the log when she spoke. He listened to her, raising his eyebrow at some points, and nodding at others. She wasn't asking for anything unreasonable, but he had to admire her spirit. He knew of many women who would do anything he wanted if he desired them, because of his family's sizable inheritance. But she was so very different from all the other women. She had conditions, something he fully appreciated having left the army only some years ago. By the Bay Ch. 04 Independence, he thought. That's what he liked about her. She knew exactly what she wanted or didn't want, and it gave him a great deal of satisfaction that she wanted him. When she finished, she turned to look at him for the first time in minutes. He wasn't angry as she'd thought he'd be, but there was a thoughtful look on his face. "Did I say something wrong?" she asked when he didn't say a word for a whole minute. His eyes were focused on the waves rolling onto the shore. He turned to look at her then, his eyes retaining their thoughtful glaze. "What I don't get is," he said, "why you think I'll hurt you. Is there something I've done that's made you feel this way? Was it that first night? In my defense, I thought you were a boy…" "No, no," she hastened to correct him. "I just… I've heard that some Englishmen are, umm, harsh with women. My own mother -." She looked away from him again, feeling as though she shouldn't meet his gaze. Shame, she knew. Yes, she was ashamed. "Your mother was hurt by someone?" he prodded, and she nodded curtly. "Yes. By many men, actually. Once, she took to her bed for a few days and even after a week, I could see the bruises showing on her skin. It hurt when she walked. There were teeth marks." The last sentence was said in almost a whisper. She started when he ran the back of his finger over her cheek, as though to assure her that he would not do anything of that kind to her. "I don't know what kind of men your mother dealt with, but I assure you that I do not find pleasure in inflicting pain on women. It's despicable." His hand dropped from her cheek and he scooted closer to her on the log. She looked up at him, something he couldn't read reflected in her eyes. "Thank you. And Meera?" "She doesn't have to know if you don't want her to." "It'll be easy, I think, to work around her. She's in school most of the day, and when she's not, she's off somewhere either buried in a book or writing." Jay crooked an eyebrow at her. "Meera? She writes?" He couldn't keep the surprise from lacing his voice. "Yes, she does. But she's rather private about it. I remember that she nearly screamed at me for opening one of her notebooks." "That does sound like her," he said, shaking his head. "I understand that she might seem that way, but she can be very entertaining at times, and I love her. She's my sister." It was said clearly and simply. Unconditionally. It struck an off-chord within Jay. Feeling like a weight had lifted from her shoulders, Anita stood, brushing errant grains of sand off her dress. He remained seated, looking up at her. "Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?" "Of course. I mean, no, I wouldn't mind." She winced at roundabout way of asking questions in English. Tamil was much more uncomplicated, in her opinion. "Why did you say yes to me? There's nothing you can gain from this." She smiled, and it was a very sad smile. "It might seem that way, but I do have my reasons. I was thinking… if this is the only chance I get to experience being a woman, then I'd really like that. It would give me something to look back upon fondly, remembering a time when this handsome Englishman took a liking to me. It'll be a time when I lived for myself, like a dream." She held out a hand and he took it, rising to his feet. Her words had affected him in more ways then one. He could understand her situation more clearly now; it was obvious that she never expected to wed, and he was the one liberty that she was allowing herself. Tenderness unfolded in his heart and he caught her to him, pressing his lips to hers. A slight breeze rolled off the waves, carrying with it the scent of the sea. Anita pressed herself closer to the Duke, loving the way his lips had a tendency to curl around hers, as though in protection. His kiss was drugging as his lips moved over hers repeatedly, his tongue tracing the shape of hers lips before sliding between them. Her response, unconditional in passion, snaked through him and almost had him trembling. He took her lips again and again, standing as they were by the sea, savoring the taste of her on his tongue. And when he wanted so much more, he pulled away, tempted to kiss her again when she looked at him as though locked in a trance. "Does everyone get this much pleasure from just a kiss?" she asked, her breathing uneven. "No," he said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ears. "I know a few men who hate kissing because they find it a waste of time." "Then why…" "Compatibility, my sweet. And we're most definitely compatible." She gave him a small smile, her eyes dropping to his lips before meeting his eyes again. He couldn't resist the growl that rose in his throat. "I don't know why my carnal appetites are so damned insatiable around you," he whispered against her forehead. She chuckled breathily. "Perhaps it's the compatibility." His chest rumbled as he laughed, too. "Perhaps." She pulled away after moments of reveling in the comfort of his arms. "I should be at the market by now." "That isn't my fault. You keep sidetracking me, woman," he said with mock gruffness. He retrieved the basket from where it still sat on the log. "Me? What did I –." Then she remembered something that she swore she would ask him at the nearest opportunity. "Would you mind if I asked you something?" "Ah, the ol' sidetracking tactic again." She laughed, but he saw the seriousness in her eyes. He offered her his arm and began walking in the general direction of the market. "What did you want to ask me about?" he said when she remained quiet for a while. She looked sheepish. "I'm thinking of a way to phrase this properly." "Phrase what?" "I just wanted to know what your first name is," she said in a rush. He stopped in his tracks and turned to stare at her. "My what?" "Your first name. I realized last night that I've been calling you 'the Duke' in my head for a rather long while now and –." She blushed when he threw his head back and laughed. * Don't forget to vote & comment! Chapter five coming soon! <3 Lily. By the Bay Ch. 05 Chapter Five © Lily Rockmore "Jay, is that you?" Even as Jay froze in his step, he prayed the voice didn't belong to whom he thought it belonged to. At first, he ignored it, turning back to the little Indian man who was ever so eager to sell him sugared peanuts. Jay passed the man a couple of loose change and the man shoveled several spoonfuls of nuts into a piece of paper rolled into the shape of a cone. As Jay took the cone from the man, a hand fell on his shoulder and he bit back a groan. "Jay! I knew it would be you," Richard Beatleman, Jay's second cousin through marriage, stood before him, a bright smile on his face. Jay forced one to his lips as well and thumped Dickie on the back as a greeting. "It's been a long time, Dickie," Jay commented, munching on the sweet nuts. He eyed Anita as she walked along the row of vegetables stalls, stopping once or twice to poke or prod at different vegetables. "What brings you here?" "I could ask you the same thing," his cousin said, reaching for the cone of nuts in Jay's hand. "My father has an estate here," Jay said in way of an explanation. "My wife's family has property here as well. She wanted to visit the place before we went back home for the birthing." "Birthing? Oh, congratulations, cousin. Where is your lovely wife? The last time I saw her was at the wedding." Genuinely pleased for his cousin despite his hatred for familial affairs, he looked to where Dickie pointed. Jay's eyes widened. "What is she doing?" he asked incredulously. His cousin laughed. "The man with the umbrella's to ward off the sun. The woman with the fan is to keep her cool. And the woman at her foot is to massage her when her feet start to hurt." Jay let out a low whistle. "How much does she cost you in maintenance fees?" "More than her dowry, that's for sure." They walked in silence along the stalls, both wondering what in hell to say next. "So how's your family?" Jay said in the exact moment when Dickie said "Do you know that girl?" Dickie's question seemed to take precedence over Jay's. "Which girl?" "The dark one. The one who keeps throwing glances in our direction." Jay knew that his cousin was referring to Anita, who looked like she was done with her shopping. "Yes. She's my housekeeper." "Ah. The housekeeper." Jay frowned at his cousin's tone. "What do you mean by that?" "Nothing, cousin. I'm just saying that I wouldn't follow my housekeeper to the market." "That's because you're married, blighter." "And you're not. Mmm-mmm," Dickie said when Anita got closer. "Not bad for one of those dark girls. Got pretty eyes, too. Tell me, cousin, have you tried her yet?" Jay narrowed his eyes at the preposterous scum of a cousin he had. "That should be none of your business." "Well if you haven't, I might give her a shot." "Dickie, your wife is less than a quarter of a mile away from us. Don't make me hurt you." "Ah, who gives a shite. She can't serve me right now, so why should she care if I take other women to bed?" "Have you no care for your wife's feelings?" "None whatsoever. So what about it? One night? Perhaps I could come over." Jay didn't get angry very often. In fact, his stepmother would describe him as a mild sort of fellow. But at the moment, he felt such anger at his cousin that he knew if Dickie didn't get out of his sight right then, there was going to be a brawl in the middle of the market. Anita chose the perfect timing to come up to them and give them both a dimpled smile. In a strained voice, Jay made introductions. Anita curtsied appropriately and ducked her head. "You're a pretty little thing," Jay's cousin said, and Anita, though her head was bowed, resisted the urge to frown. She didn't like that description. She wasn't an object. "Thank you, sir," she said instead, keeping her head lowered. "So what about that night, cousin?" "No, Dickie. One more word about it and I'll make sure you won't be able to make that offer to anyone again." "Well, if you didn't want to share her, you could've said so," Dickie said, affronted. "I believe I already did. Good day, cousin." * He was quiet during the walk home. Anita could tell that he was angry, probably because of his cousin's words. She was not naïve enough not to know what the other man had asked and what Jay had refused. What she couldn't understand was why men were suddenly finding her attractive. She'd heard that men became more handsome as they aged, but it wasn't the way with women. Jay's cousin would be the second man to find her attractive in the span of a month – a great change from the many years she'd spent without the attention of any man. They entered the house through the back gate. Still, Jay didn't say anything, merely held the door open for her to step through. There was a frown between his brows, as though he was deep in thought, and she didn't want to disturb him. She set the basket on the counter and started pulling out vegetables. He was still standing in the kitchen, behind her; she was acutely aware of that. But she wasn't going to say a word to him until he talked to her. It just didn't feel right to break the silence. She'd just begun to wash the greens when he cleared his throat. She looked over her shoulder to find him lounging against the table in the kitchen. Tilting her head, she waited for him to talk. "I apologize for my cousin," he said, his voice husky. She shrugged. "It wasn't your fault." "No, but I shouldn't have let him speak to you that way." She gave him a tight smile and placed the rinsed vegetables on the cutting board. "But I want you to stay away from him," he continued when she didn't respond. "If you see him, walk in the opposite direction. I went to school with him for a few years and he's not the kind of man whose attentions you should entertain." His words scared her a little. She'd never had to worry about men attacking her before. It was a frightening prospect. Now she knew how Meera felt. "I – yes, of course." She wiped her wet hands on a towel and turned to face him. He smiled at her, relieved, as though he'd gotten a weight off his chest. "That's one thing I don't want you to forget. I have a nagging feeling that he might come for a visit again." "Oh," her eyes widened. "Even when you told him not to?" "Yes. We're cousins of sorts. He might think he's entitled to." She bit her lip and nodded. "I should keep Meera out of his sight, too." His smile was wider now. "That would be a sound idea." The clock in the house chimed, and her eyes widened. "Is it nine already? Oh, I think I spent too much time at the market." She raised a hand to her hair in a flurry. "I've to wash the clothes and change the sheets and…" He stepped forward and stilled her fretting hands. "The world won't end if you don't do these things for a day." "But…" He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek. "You work too hard. The sheets don't have to be changed today. Tomorrow is as good as today to change them." Her chin took on a stubborn tilt. "It's my job to change the sheets, Jay." Silence followed her statement, and she watched as the glint in his eyes became almost feral. She began to wonder at the sudden change in him when his fingers rose to caress her cheek. "My name sounds different when you say it." He made the act of saying his name sound so intimate that she found her cheeks heating. "I like hearing it from you. It's not quite like everyone else pronounces it." She simed and reached up to pluck his fingers away from her cheeks. She held it in between her hands. "Thank you," she said, then added almost regretfully, "I have to get back to work now. The curry will take at least an hour to simmer." He feigned great disappointment, shaking his head at her. Then he leaned down and slid his lips across hers in a fleeting kiss before turning away. "I'll be back for lunch," he called as he walked out of the kitchen. Anita turned back to dicing the vegetables with a content smile on her lips. * He didn't come down for lunch, so Anita took a tray up to the library. From the other side of the door, she could hear him tapping away on the typewriter, and decided not to disturb him. So she left the tray outside the door and crept back down the stairs. It was just as well, she thought. She didn't want him lingering around the house for the next few minutes. Back in the kitchen, she looked around for any sign of Nanthini. It was a Friday afternoon, and the older woman was probably in the backyard, trimming the bushes. A quick peek through the kitchen windows confirmed Anita's assumption. Technically, with Jay locked up in the library, and Nanthini out of the house, Anita had the house all to herself. It was the perfect opportunity for what she had in mind. Grabbing a cup of warm water and the white marketing basket from the table, she quickly headed to her room and turned the lock. She sat on the stool in front of the small writing table she was given, and carefully took out the contents of the marketing bag. A bottle of neem oil and a messy clump of herbs. She stared at both for a long while. The old woman in the market had told her she would need to use the neem oil for the first month before she depended on the herbs to do their work. But as Anita turned the bottle around in a smooth circle, she wondered exactly how she was supposed to use the bottle of oil. Drink it? Apply it somewhere? She popped the cork off it and took a sniff. It didn't smell all that bad, almost like spices, but it didn't smell like it was meant for drinking. Shuddering, she sealed it again and put it aside. The herbs, on the other hand, looked edible. But she knew she was supposed to soak the leaves in warm water and drink it everyday. Picking the leaves off the stem, she put them into the water in the cup and stirred. Then she waited for ten minutes, as she'd been told to do. She was nervous and excited all the same. Today would mark a beginning of a journey, a new chapter of her life. She had consented to give her body to one man, and she was taking steps so that there would not be unwanted consequences because of it. She was taking every measure possible to make sure that her personal happiness would not cost her much. And it would not, she thought. She would not let it. Ten minutes later, she downed the tea-like mixture in quick gulps. A pungent odor crawled back up her throat and she had to clamp down on the urge to vomit. The mixture had a strange taste; a cross between green leaves and earth. But it was done. She had downed it. It was day one of her regime to prevent conception. Now she needed some mint. * Jay winced when he felt his lower back twinge in protest. Rising to his feet slowly, he indulged in a cat-like stretch to get his blood flowing properly again. He'd been hunched over his desk for – he looked at his wristwatch – nearly eight hours now. It was a wonder that his feet remembered how to work. He found a tray outside his door and bent to swipe a sandwich from it. The bread was still warm and he surmised that Anita must've heated the food periodically. The thought brought a smile to his lips, because he knew now that she probably did it out of affection for him more than anything else. He'd been having the greatest day since she'd agreed to his offer that morning. He'd gotten a significant part of his story written, and he felt that it was one of the best chapters he'd written in over ten years. But most of all, he was simply happy. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a while, ever since he'd enlisted for the war. Even after it, he'd returned home to an ailing father and a bitter mother. The only tiny measure of happiness at that time had been Catherine Mae and Andrew, his younger brother who visited Haydes manor from time to time with a pocketful of jokes and good humor. The past few years had left him quite discontent with life, but the new turn of things made everything seem… easier, lighter, brighter. Jay chewed on his spicy curry sandwich as he slipped down the stairs, taking two steps at a time. He was suddenly eager to see Anita and snag a kiss or two. But when he saw that the other maid was in the kitchen with her, both of them humming a tune as they bustled around the kitchen, he turned on his heels and decided to take a walk along the beach instead. After twenty minutes of strolling aimlessly along the beach, he spotted a lone man walking in the distance. He was returning from the market, Jay supposed, since he carried a large basket on his head that Jay had seen vendors do. Jay watched in considerable awe as the man balanced the basket on his head without using his hands to keep it there. When the man saw that Jay was watching him, however, he quickened his pace and came to a stop in front of Jay. Jay began to decline, saying that he was not looking to buy anything, when the man pointed to his basket and said, "See, sir, see." Sighing, Jay reluctantly agreed to take a peek. The man was a faux jewelry seller. His basket was filled with earrings, necklaces and bangles. "Buy for wife?" he coaxed, holding up a string of large sapphire rocks. "I don't have a wife… thank god," Jay murmured, looking into the basket. His hands were beginning to feel a little itchy. Looking at all the jewelry, he thought perhaps he might buy something for Anita. They might be cheap, but the designs were unique and beautiful; Anita struck him as the type of woman who would value the thought behind the gift more than the worth of the gems. Ten minutes later, with everything the man owned spread out on the sand before him, Jay carefully selected a neat row of blue bangles. They were glass bangles, but cut with artificial gold inserts. As soon as Jay held it up to the waning sunlight, he knew he had to have it. It would look beautiful on Anita's wrists, and he could imagine her wearing it for him… the bangles and nothing else. Maybe he'd ask her to when they became more familiar with each other. Shaking his head, he asked the thin man to come by the Shackleton house around noon the next day to collect his payment. The seller looked none-too-pleased about the delay in payment but agreed anyway as he placed the bangles in a paper bag and handed it to Jay. Sliding the paper bag into his pocket, Jay decided to walk back to the house since it was nearing dinner time. As he neared the strip of the beach that was connected to the house, however, he saw someone huddled on the sand, looking out at the sea. The blonde locks and green sari were unmistakable, and as he neared her, Jay thought he saw her wiping a stray tear away. But he could have been wrong. * Meera didn't move as she felt the Duke coming near her. She hoped he hadn't seen her swipe at her tears, and she hoped more than ever that he would simply return to the house and leave her alone with her thoughts. But her hoping was for naught as he seemed oblivious to her feelings, dropping to the sand a few feet away from her and resting his arms on his knees. Neither of them said a thing for a few moments. The spot was hers and Meera wasn't inclined to move to get out of his presence. After moments, he asked, "You don't like me very much, do you?" He'd phrased the question like a statement, and Meera turned to gage his expression before turning away. "What does it matter if I liked you or not?" "It matters to me greatly. I've always considered myself a likeable person. It's hurtful that you consider me so repulsive." Meera eyes were fixed on the waves, watching them keenly, following the crest and dispersal of the water. Her mind frantically reminded her that she needed to watch her words with this man, or it could get her sister fired. Another part of her, her heart, wanted to berate him for the intentions she had seen in his eyes when he looked at Anita. She took a deep breath, trying to put across her words with as little venom as possible. "It's not that I consider you… repulsive. It's what I see in your eyes that I dislike." His eyes? "And what do you see in my eyes?" She turned, and her eyes caught his and held. "Lust for my sister." Again, there was an uncomfortable silence as Jay thought of what to say in response. "Anita told me you were a writer…" "She discussed me with you?" "…and I'm surprised that as a writer, you aren't as astute as you should be." Meera frowned at the insult. "What is that supposed to mean?" "That not everything is what you see. I'm sure you understand that." "You mean to say that you don't lust after my sister?" "Not at all," Jay lied smoothly, remembering his promise to Anita. "I don't know where you got that ridiculous idea from." He thought he saw the fair girl blush. She didn't say anything for a long while and he searched his mind for something to say to her that would not be taken as an insult. "So what kind of novels do you write?" he managed at last. Biting her lip, Meera picked at the fray on the sleeve of her blouse. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable discussing that." "All right," Jay nodded. "I can understand that. Well, I write fiction." Meera's head shot up, almost as quickly as a bullet. "You're a writer?" she asked, astonished. "Hell, I should be insulted. Yes, I'm a writer. Do I not look the part?" he grinned, tugging at his dark locks. A small smile played around on Meera's lips. He was trying to loosen her up, she knew. But her guard was difficult to dissolve, for it had been built up over more than a decade. "Maybe a little. Do you have a book published?" "Yes. Several, actually. You're welcome to read them if you want to. They're all in the library." The Duke was being so nice to her that Meera felt almost ashamed that she had treated him as she had before. But she knew that men could not be nice without wanting something in return. "So I can read in your library if I wanted to?" "If you'd like. I've read most of the books in there anyway." Meera waited for the catch, for the 'but', but it did not come. A few minutes of light conversation later, he asked her if she would like to go in for dinner. She said yes. * Anita was taken by surprise when Jay walked into the house behind Meera late Friday evening. Nanthini had left an hour ago to visit her family, and Anita had since been waiting for both of them to return home… just not together. When she saw them entering the house simultaneously, her eyes had flown to Jay's, frightened that he had somehow let something slip, but he caught her gaze and shook his head. Anita released the breath that she didn't know she'd been holding. "Meera, have you been torturing the Duke?" she said teasingly as she came forward with a smile. "Not in the least. If anything, I was the torture," Jay interjected. Meera mumbled something noncommittal. "Well, dinner is ready. Would you like it now or would you rather wash up first?" Remembering the present Jay had in his pocket, he opted for washing up first. Meera simply shrugged and walked towards her bedroom. "Meera," he called, ignoring the look Anita gave him. The blonde girl turned, head tilted in question. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?" Anita's eyes conveyed her exasperation with him. She didn't understand this man. Wasn't it obvious that Meera didn't want to be in his company? And didn't he know that the more they were in each other's company, the more chances there were that Meera would find out the truth? Anita thought her sister would decline, but to her surprise, Meera merely shrugged and entered the kitchen. Anita turned back to Jay, wanting to know exactly what he was doing. "I thought you agreed to keep Meera out of this!" she whispered in a hiss. By the Bay Ch. 05 "I did. And this has nothing to do with us. I was just trying to be nice to your sister," he whispered back. "Why?" He shrugged. "I simply don't like the idea of someone disliking my guts." Anita let out an exasperate breath. "You do realize that the more you talk to her, the more chances there are for her to find out about us?" "Yes, I do. But I've already set things straight with her." "What? What things?" The more he talked, the more Anita began to worry that Meera had found out, though inadvertently. Jay gave her a lopsided smile. "I told her that I do not find you attractive. She seems to be placated by that… I think." Instead of feeling insulted, Anita sighed. At least Jay had made an effort to hold true to his end of the bargain. Her relief was there, in her smile. Jay reached up to smooth a strand of hair behind her ear. "I think I'll take that bath now." She clasped her hands in front of her, resisting the urge to smooth her cheek against his palm. "I'll set the table," she said, her voice as low as his had been. He nodded at her statement, giving her a slight smile before turning towards the stairs. Anita laughed softly to herself before walking towards the cupboard that held the China dishware. * They were seated in the dining room half an hour later, with Jay and Meera freshly scrubbed and Anita lining the table with dishes she'd slaved over through the afternoon. Jay sat at the head of the table, with Meera to his right. The young girl stared down at her plate and he could tell that she was deep in thought. As Anita brought out the last bowl of vegetables tossed with chicken, Jay invited her to join them, too. "Where's Nanthini?" he asked when she hesitated. "She's already left," Anita replied, darting a glance at her sister. Meera's eyes were still averted. "Then no one will be here to witness the Duke of Shackleton having dinner with two lovely young ladies, would they?" Before Anita could respond, Meera seemed to snap out of her reverie with a considerable amount of vigor. "Why are you doing this?" she asked with a frown. "Meera!" Anita chided, appalled at her sister's lack of courtesy for Jay and her inappropriate tone. Had she not taught her sister to respect those who were older than her? And after Jay had been so nice as to invite both of them to have dinner with him, how could Meera be so rude? "No, no, don't stop her," Jay intervened. "Let her ask what she wants to." "I can't -," Anita started, but Jay shot her a look. "Why are you doing this?" Meera repeated. "Why did you talk to me at the beach? Why did you invite me to dine with you? What do you want from us?" Jay spoke over Anita's protests. "I want nothing from you. I talked to you at the beach because I wanted to know more about you since we're living under the same roof… theoretically. And I invited you to dinner because I get tired of eating alone sometimes. Even an Englishman gets lonely." "But it's not proper. The master doesn't eat with the servants -." "As Anita already knows, I'm not a stickler for protocol. I can get around rules if I must. And in this case, I must." "But you're an Englishman. We're Indian." "I'm human and so are you. Are you prejudiced in your thinking, Meera?" Meera looked taken aback. "W-what?" "Do you want me to treat you and your sister like servants? Or order you around like animals and make you eat my leftovers? Is that how you think our relationship is supposed to be?" "Y-yes." Then, "No. Oh, I don't know! I'm not used to this." Anita took her seat and looked calmly at Jay. "I'm not used to this either. What you described before was how we were treated in the previous household that I worked for. This is a new experience for both of us, to be treated with some sort of respect." Jay paused in his speech, stunned. He thought he'd exaggerated his points a little, but he hadn't known that Anita and Meera had actually been subjected to such circumstances before. He couldn't imagine anyone being treated that way. Don't all humans deserve some measure of respect? Even the servants in Haydes manor were treated better; or at least, he thought they were. His mother tended to oversee that category. Two pairs of eyes stared curiously at him, waiting for his response. But Jay couldn't seem to find something in his vast vocabulary to say. Should he apologize? Assure them that he would do no such thing? Ask for their previous employer's name? What came out was a huff and "Well." Meera sighed, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Anita fidgeted in her seat. "I'll have you know that I'm nothing like the people who employed you in the past. My scruples disallow me from treating anyone in that manner. Rest assured that you'll always have a full meal and sufficient rest whilst living under my roof." "Why are you so different?" Meera asked out of curiosity. "Out of every Englishman I've met, why must you be so different? It's so confusing." "Watch your tone, Meera," Anita reminded her sister with a frown. She jumped when Jay patted her knee under the table. "I can understand that," Jay continued, ignoring Anita's comments. He wanted to set Meera straight once and for all so that she didn't kill him with her eyes every time they met. "There's always the grey area between the black and white, even though fully comprehending it might be a problem for most, it still exists. I think I'm the grey area for you. I'm neither the kind of man you can ignore, nor the kind of man you want to throw stones at. Aren't I right?" Meera's cheeks heated. How had he pegged her thoughts so well, so quickly? "Well, being in the grey area can be a good thing. I propose we be friends, or in the least, develop a cordial relationship. What say you to that?" Meera bit her lip, thinking about his offer. A cordial relationship? With an Englishmen? Never. And yet… "You don't have to tell me immediately. But you can always seek me out when you want to." Meera frowned but nodded anyway. Anita stood quickly before any further awkward conversation could take place. She had rice on their plates before either of them could take a full breath. * Ruth Tatiana undulated her hips on the Earl, grabbing the ends of her nipples and tugging fiercely. She was not enjoying the romp in the least, but was merely giving the fellow a show for him to enjoy. All she'd been thinking about over the past few days was how the Duke of Shackleton had rejected her for a servant. Yes, she'd overheard their conversation, of how he wasn't interested in her, and it had made her sick. She'd had plans for that man, and it had been thwarted by some cross-breed Indian whore! She felt the man under her shudder as he climaxed, but she didn't stop moving her hips. Was she not beautiful? Was she not desirable? Why would he choose that ugly bitch over her? It was what Ruth couldn't understand. Which man wouldn't be proud to have her on his arm, showing her off to a roomful of jealous patrons? She'd been so sure that she would be able to reel the Duke in and secure her future as his mistress for the next few years. But it hadn't happened. She was still back in the same rut, overseeing other people's mansions when they wanted to leave the island. She had nearly nothing for herself, and only men like the one under her provided her with enough funds to resume her extravagant lifestyle. Ruth panted and pressed her body close the Earl's, purring compliments into his ear. She knew exactly what he wanted to hear, and she watched his satiated lips part in a smile. Grabbing the towel she had kept ready at the foot of the bed, she wiped herself off and reached for her dress and underthings. "What time is your wife coming home?" she asked as she slipped the cream-colored stocking sensuously over her right leg. His eyes followed her; her show was a deliberate attempt to make him want her again after he'd just had her. He would pay more the next time for just an hour with her. "I don't care," the Earl murmured, his gaze transfixed. "Well, darling, I do," she purred, pulling her slip over her head. The ties were at the back, and again, it had been a conscious decision of hers to wear that particular slip. "Would you knot the back, please?" She arranged her hair as he tied the strings for her. When she turned back to him, it was obvious that he had an erection. She laughed. "It's not ten minutes yet, sugar," she said with a girlish giggle, reaching for her dress. "Come on, Ruth," the Earl said, pulling the dress from her hands and throwing it over the chair. She twined her hands around his neck, pressing herself close to his lean frame. In truth, she didn't mind giving him another go. He didn't smell, nor was he a physical abomination. "It's going to cost you," she murmured, nibbling his ear. "'doesn't matter," he growled as he tumbled them both to the bed. Seconds later, she was moaning as he ruched her slip around her waist and thrust into her. The invasion was slightly painful but she ignored the pain, tilting her hips upwards to seem as though she was actually involved in the act. "God, you're fucking beautiful," she heard him murmur and he pounded into her flesh. Her mind hung onto those words, repeating them so that they played incessantly in her head. Beautiful. She knew she was beautiful. But an Indian whore had bested her. How could she have let that happen? She'd hired that bitch. How had she let the situation get so out of hand? She cried out as the Earl's teeth sank into the flesh at her neck. It was harder than she was used to and it stung. She held still as she felt him tense again, waiting for the final thrust and spill. When it came, she left him satisfied and sleeping, creeping to the stables at least two hundred pounds richer. The money did not make her feel better as it usually did. All she could think about was being semi-naked and willing in the Duke's arms whilst he had rejected her for an ugly Indian bitch. * Hey guys, I know it took a while to get this out, but it's been a rather busy couple of months. I'm still trying to find the balance in life and set aside time to write on a daily basis. I just hope ya'll can stand the wais as I fumble around with an hour of writing per day for now. Anywho, I'm already working on the next chapter of BTB, so no worries! It'll be up soon(: Oh, and don't forget to vote and comment! Love, Lily. By the Bay Ch. 06 Hey guys! As promised, I am back! I've been working on By the Bay lately because it's the story that has inspired me the most. But not to worry, all you fans of Colorblind and Alex. Those stories aren't far from my mind, and I'm still brainstorming for ideas on how to continue/end them. Anywho, I hope you enjoy the latest of BTB. Don't forget to rate and comment! Thank you very muchly for reading (: Love, L. The rest of dinner passed without incident. Meera was silent and brooding as she usually was when upset, and Jay and Anita had no trouble filling the silence with little snippets of their lives. Jay told her about his childhood, his brother and half-sister and the adventures they'd all had as children. He also told her of his second mother, Ruby, whom he adored beyond imagination. But when she asked of his birth mother, Anita could feel reluctance emanating from him. So she changed the subject. She told him of the village she grew up in and of the nice people she knew. She talked about her previous jobs and how she'd loved or hated each one. And she also told him how she'd once thought she'd grow up to marry her uncle because it was conventional to. She laid out her story in front of him over dinner, painstakingly avoiding the subject of her mother. It didn't escape their notice that they were both uncomfortable speaking of their mothers. "I'm tired, ka. I think I'll go to bed." Anita flushed guiltily at the sound of Meera's voice. In truth, she'd almost forgotten her sister had been at the table. Jay's presence had captured all her attention and she'd almost memorized every word that had slipped past his lips over dinner. She wanted to know everything about him, and then some more. "Goodnight," she called to Meera as her sister disappeared into the kitchen. She turned back to Jay and found that his eyes were on her. Her gaze drifted to his lips, supple and inviting in the lamplight. She wanted to feel his lips on hers again in a kiss as unending as the one they'd shared on the beach that morning. Anita's hands began to tremble slightly at that thought. She wanted his scent to seep into her skin and into her memory. She wanted, for once in her life. She wanted him. Neither party said a word for a few tense seconds. They waited for a door to be shut, to know that Meera was out of the picture. She watched as the color of Jay's eyes changed – from a mild green to a dark, thick emerald. Anita didn't know if it was the cozy atmosphere or the wine he'd poured for her or the glitter in his eyes, but she felt something absolutely sinful curl in her tummy. She pressed a trembling hand over her abdomen just as she heard a soft click of the door in the distance. He met her halfway. It was like a dam of desire had been unleashed, and lust flowed over them as they tried to get as close to each other as possible. Jay's lips slanted over hers repeatedly, his fingers threading into her hair. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, and the slight stinging sensation drove him on. He wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her to the table, stepping between her legs with expert efficiency. When Anita felt his thighs brush against the inner flesh of hers, she gasped into his mouth leaned back from his embrace with uncertainty. Her hesitance lasted only for a second, however. Apprehension slipped her mind as his lips began trailing kisses over her cheek and jaw. She felt feverish. Like her dress was too tight. She could feel Jay's hands on her waist, its warmth making her tremble ever so slightly. His kisses were quick, hot, exciting as they trailed down her neck and collar. Her fingers curled around his nape and her eyes closed. She lost herself to the feeling of someone wanting her in return. When his teeth closed on her earlobe and nibbled tenderly, she couldn't help the moan that escaped her lips. It was like tiny pinpricks of pleasure spread from the point where he was biting her, all the way to her femininity. She felt so open for he was standing between her legs, but it made her feel wanton. Like a woman. She trembled for the hundredth time in five minutes and clung to him as he made her feel like she was about to come apart in his arms. "You're trembling," he whispered in her ear, his voice ragged and hot. "I know. It's your fault," she chastised. "Your hands..." She wanted to scream for him to continue his caresses, to continue the magic he played upon her body. But he simply held her against his chest, and she felt his heartbeat slowing. There was a dull, empty throb at the apex of her thighs that she found peculiar and frustrating. "We'll continue this in the bedroom." With that, he lifted her into his arms and started for the stairs. * Well, it didn't turn out as romantically as he'd planned it. Before he was able to get her into his room, she remembered that the doors and windows weren't locked and that the dirty dishes were still on the table. So he had to let her go as she tidied the bloody house. He groused about it for the first ten minutes, until he realized that he could still salvage the situation. In the bottom drawer of his writing desk were extra candles in case the oil lamps burned out in the middle of the night. If he remembered correctly, the candles were scented and were perfect for making the room cozy and romantic. He placed the candles at strategic positions and lit them. The room took on a warm glow and the cinnamon and rose scents made it smell like their own little heaven. The gift he'd purchased for her lay on the dresser, glinting sapphire and gold in the candlelight. He couldn't wait for her to wear it for him. He knew she'd look spectacular in it. After he'd set the room, he stood near the balcony, not knowing what to do with himself. He considered fussing with the bedsheets or heading downstairs to get them a bottle of wine to refuel the mood, but it all seemed so artificial as compared to the fire that lingered between them. With his past lovers, yes, there had been wooing, teasing and the façade of courtship, but with Anita, it was elemental. She wanted nothing but him. Not his money, not his title, just him. And their shared passion was the aggressor in their relationship. A slight breeze rolled into the room, and he could see and hear the rustle of the palm trees in the distance. There was a full moon that night, and he jested with himself that the moon had to be the reason for the mad passion burning inside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorframe of the balcony, waiting for her appearance at the door. It was a few more minutes before he heard her hesitant footsteps in the corridor, and another handful of seconds before she appeared in the doorway. She'd changed out of her maid's dress and now donned a plain blue cotton sari. In one hand, she held a bottle with gold liquid, and in the other, gripped the end of her sari tightly. Her eyes flickered to meet his, then shied away. If she were fair-skinned, he knew he would've seen a blush high on her cheeks. He waited for her to speak. "I didn't know what to wear," she said so softly that he had to strain to hear her. Nothing would have been perfect, was what he wanted to say. But she was already feeling quite shy and he didn't want to exacerbate it. "It doesn't matter," he told her as he pushed away from the doorframe. "You'd look beautiful dressed in anything." He went over to the bed and sat on the edge. "C'mere," he coaxed. She stepped forward hesitantly, until she was just within his reach. "What's this you've brought me?" He gestured to the bottle in her hands. She peeked at him from beneath her lashes, the deep blue of her eyes mesmerizing in the candlelight. "The woman at the market gave it to me. I wasn't sure how to use it, but I thought you might know." He took the bottle from her and popped the cork. "Neem oil," he said after a sniff. "How did you know?" she asked as he set the bottle within reach on the bedside table. "I've read about it in an article. It prevents conception." He reached for her hands and pulled her between his legs. Her eyes met his as he laid her hands gently on his shoulder, turning his head to place a gentle kiss on her wrists. He could smell soap on her skin, mixing with her natural scent. It tempted him to take a fold of her skin between his teeth. She gasped at the slight pain, but moved closer to him, trusting him to hurt her only to make her feel good. His emerald eyes cut into hers, the desire in them making her heart race beyond control. He ran his palms down her forearms, making goosebumps ripple as he made the ascent to her shoulders. When he touched the sensitive hollow at the base of her neck, she turned her head to the side with a shudder. He let his fingers trace the contours of her cheeks, over her cheekbones, and then lower, to the tip of her chin. It was as though he was trying to memorize every line of her features. When he paused to cup her face in his fingers, she laid her hands over his before placing a kiss at the center of each palm. He pulled her onto his lap, draping her arm around his neck for convenience. His lips sought hers, tender yet so filled with desire that Anita couldn't breathe for the first few seconds. His lips were so familiar to her now; the shape and feel of them and how they molded to hers were heavenly. His fingers stole into her hair, tugging at the pins that kept the dark mass in place. He'd always longed to see her hair loose and flowing around her shoulders, but she'd always kept it tucked away in a tight bun. As he kissed her, he took the pins from her hair and let them fall to the floor. Without their captors, long tendrils of her hair unwound and spilled around the both of them like silk. Her hair, like her, smelled of soap and woman, and he was hard-pressed not to tear his mouth from hers and bury himself in her hair. Anita was burning inside. His hands, even when they did not touch her, elicited a response from her body that was thick and hot. His fingers – dear gods, his fingers – in her hair was sending a languid ache streaming through her body. And yet again, there was a hollow ache between her thighs where thick, transparent liquid had pooled. She'd noticed it before whilst changing, and had wiped it off with distaste, wondering what in heavens that was. But now, she realized that it only happened when he touched her, so it had to be natural. Or so she hoped. He leaned back onto the bed and took her with him. Her legs parted to straddle him and her hair blanketed the both of them. Her sari had risen over her breasts and her navel was exposed to him. Heat surged through his body at the sight of her exquisite skin and the ridiculously small indentation of her waist. He grasped her waist in one hand and rolled them over so that he would be able to look down upon her features while he loved her. She was staring up at him with trust reflected in her shimmering sapphire eyes. Her lips were slightly swollen from their kisses, and she was simply irresistible to him. He captured her thick lower lips between his teeth and tugged before parting the seam of her lips and sliding his tongue against hers. Her sweetness singed his tongue and he moaned deep in his throat. She shifted restlessly against him, especially when his palm came to tug on the sash of her sari. Her hands twined around his neck and she returned his kisses with all the desire she had in her body. He tugged the material of her sari off her body, leaving her clad only in her blouse and petticoat. She would've covered herself if he hadn't already anticipated her move and captured her hands above her head before she could do so. "You shouldn't hide yourself from me," he whispered against her lips. "You're too beautiful to hide." She was still getting used to the fact that he found her beautiful, but hearing him say the words over and over again made her think that she might actually be beautiful. Leaning forward, she kissed his lips, those sensual lips that could say such beautiful things to her. So engrossed was she in the kiss that she hadn't felt his fingers move over the clasp of her blouse. Her protests were silenced not by his lips, but by her own gasps of pleasure. His fingers glided across her nipples, flicking them until they were hard as little pebbles. Her skin quivered as sinful pleasure rippled through her, emanating from her breasts to her core. When he replaced his fingers with his mouth, she arched toward him, unable to keep her eyes off what he was doing to her breasts. She'd only seen babies suckle on their mother's bosom before, but she was sure that what Jay was doing was entirely different. That wiry burst of pleasure in her intensified as he suckled her other nipple, leaving one breast moist and hard. Her fingers entwined themselves in his dark locks, anchoring his head to her breast, telling him never to stop. She could feel herself moving towards something, something big, but she didn't know what it was. It was a frightening feeling, but she couldn't seem to summon the desire to tell Jay to stop his ministrations. His lips left her breast with a scrape of teeth and she nearly cried out from the intense pleasure that created. She felt him caressing her midsection, over her ribs, then her navel, until her reached for the ties of her petticoat. The ribbon came undone, and he pulled the garment off her with a swift tug. At his urging, she slipped her blouse off, and finally she was completely bare to him. Jay sat back to look his fill of her. She was even lovelier than he'd imagined. Even in his dreams, she hadn't looked this beautiful. Her torso was slender and her breasts were topped with dark, hard nipples. Her legs weren't long, but they were shapely, and she had the daintiest feet he'd ever seen on a woman. He pressed a kiss to her lips and murmured, "One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace / Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o'er her face. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent / The smiles that win, the tints that glow, / But tell of days in goodness spent, / A mind at peace with all below, /A heart whose love is innocent." She cupped his face, pleasure humming in her body. "What does that mean?" "It's a poem. By Lord Byron. 'She Walks in Beauty'. Looking at you made me recall it." "That's – oh, dear gods." Before she could respond to him, his fingers breached the sanctity of her nether curls in search of the pearl hidden within them. Anita hadn't realized that she was so sensitive to a person's touch until Jay's middle finger found a hard button between her legs. She mewled as he stroked it, then dipped his finger into the moisture at her core and dragged it back to the bud. Never had she known such fire. Her hips were moving of their own volition, lifting to his touch with an abandon that left her mindless. At that moment, she knew that if he stopped what he was doing, she would surly die. Desire had pooled at the pit of her stomach, and it demanded to be appeased. Anita sought some form of release that was yet within her reach. Her breath caught on a sob as she felt Jay's lean finger enter her. She welcomed his invasion, for it helped ease the empty ache inside her a little. Pleasure tingled in tiny sparks as his finger moved inside her. She cried out in awe, need and longing. "Jay..." she whimpered as a particularly pleasurable spasm wracked her core. She was afraid, and she wanted to tell him that. She didn't know what was happening to her body, and she needed his reassurance that... that... that... Oh, he knew he was going to have scars all over his back in the morning, but he couldn't care less. Jay watched as Anita received her pleasure, hips arching into his hand, fingers digging into his back. Her sheath gripped him tightly as she ground her pleasure out on his fingers. Sweat glimmered on her skin like glitter in the candlelight. Her eyes remained closed for several minutes, and he could feel the spasms besieging her body even as he withdrew from her. Tugging his clothes off, he reached for the neem oil that sat on the bedside table. He uncorked the bottle and poured a little of it onto his hand. Then, setting the bottle aside, he rubbed the oil onto his pulsing, sensitive shaft. She was floating on a haze of pleasure. Nothing around her mattered but the languidness that filled her. Her eyelids felt heavy, but when she felt a tender kiss on her lips, she blinked them open. He smiled at her, a self-indulgent, arrogant smile that made her heartbeat quicken from its post-coital state. "I don't think I have to ask you if you enjoyed that," he said, pushing tendrils of hair away from her forehead. "Maybe I didn't," she said with a coquettish smile. "Maybe it was all an act." "Oh, really?" he asked with a challenge in his raised eyebrow. His fingers touched her swollen bud and she gasped. He laughed. "There's more. Are you ready?" She nodded, and he grasped her legs and settled more comfortably between her thighs. He pressed a deep, tender kiss to her lips. "This might hurt just a little." She could feel him entering her, and he was wrong. It didn't hurt. She felt deliciously stretched, achy and trembly all over, but she didn't hurt. It did sound like he was hurting, though. His breaths came out in short pants and he was very still above her. "Are you all right?" she asked him, twining her hands around his neck. Jay stared down at her in confusion. "Aren't I supposed to ask you that? Are you all right?" He looked like he'd run a hundred miles without pausing for breath. She replied quickly. He leaned forward and kissed her thoroughly and deliciously. "You're a wonder," he breathed, and he began to move within her. He was dead, that was a surety. Jay was sure he'd died and gone to heaven, for nothing in this world could've been more pleasurable that being inside Anita, her sheath wet and pulsing around him. He could feel small convulsions ripple along his cock as he moved faster within her, stroking a new kind of fire in Anita. She'd actually thought she'd experienced all there was to loving, but she'd been so wrong. What Jay was doing to her – this was a different kind of pleasure. The kind that started inside her and made her bones feel like they'd melted. She felt like she was caught in a storm of pleasure as her head whirled, trying to keep up with the build-up of pleasure in her womb. Her legs rose, of their own volition, to wrap around his waist, and she clung to him as he stroked her with fire, within and without. Tighter and tighter desire coiled until it became almost painful, and then she felt herself at that edge of bliss again. With a hard stroke, he pushed her off the edge, and she tumbled, headlong, into the abyss of mind-numbing pleasure. He was right behind her, crying out with the force of his release, his deeper tone blending with the whimpers that escaped her body. It was as though all his energy had been expelled through his seed, and he found himself falling on top of her limp form, his body trying to cope with the inexplicable surge of pleasure he'd just experienced. She lay pliant and satisfied, never wanting to return to her imperfect world again. The man lying with her was all she needed. She would have him and everything else did not matter. When she opened her eyes, he was there, looking down at her, a tender smile on his lips as he relieved her of his weight. He pressed a kiss to her lips even though they were swollen and certainly didn't need any more. At that moment, a violent and possessive emotion swept through him, and all he wanted to do was keep her close and never let her go. She'd given him a gift no one else had offered him before, and he adored her for that. By the Bay Ch. 06 He rolled them over so that they could get under the sheets, and she let him because she was wont to move. As he pulled the covers around them, something glittered on the table, and he remembered the gift he'd bought her. Climbing out of bed gloriously naked, he blew out all the candles except the ones by the bed, palmed the bangles and slipped back under the covers. She was waiting for him, her eyes a bright, cloudy blue and sated. He took her hands in his. "I bought you something," he murmured, and slipped some of the bangles onto one hand, and the rest on the other. The sapphire bangles glimmered in the candlelight as she raised them to look at. He watched the joy on her face as she surveyed her present. But he was unprepared for the tears that rose to her eyes. "What's the matter?" he asked, pulling her close. "Nothing. I just... no one's ever bought me anything so pretty before." He wrapped his arms around her so that she was tucked against him. "I'll buy you something pretty everyday if you want." She chuckled lightly and kissed his cheek. "Thank you for this. It's lovely." "It reminded me of you." "It's too grand to be anything like me," she said around a yawn, admitting to herself that she was deliciously comfortable with his warmth around her. He tilted her cheek so that she would look into his eyes for what he had to say. "Don't belittle yourself that way, Anita. You're in no way lesser than any woman I've known. In fact, I think you're better than most. No other woman would sacrifice her life to make her younger sister happy. You're a gem, lady. You've yet to realize it is all." He was being so sweet to her that Anita couldn't think of anything to say. She stared at him for a long time, tears shimmering in her eyes. "Thank you," she said finally, snuggling deeper into his arms. His skin heated hers and she wished they never had to leave their little warm cocoon and that he would keep saying sweet things in her ear all night. His pressed a kiss to her neck, inhaling the sweet essence of her hair. "Goodnight," he said, and she was asleep seconds later. * Rae placed the cigar on the ashtray and dipped the brush in paint again. She raised it to the canvas, correcting the imperfections in the portrait. Meera knelt on the floor a few feet away, still in the position Rae had captured on canvas. She'd been painting for hours now, having started just after Meera had stepped into the hotel room. It was a beautiful piece, even Rae had to admit that. Meera knelt by the bed, facing Rae, wearing nothing but her see-through red cotton sari. The material covered only her femininity and midriff and her hands, criss-crossing over her chest, covered her breasts. Her eyes were averted, as though in shame, and the bed lay rumpled nearby. Rae had thought it a good position to paint Meera in, and she'd been right. Rae had painted numerous people before but she knew as she put the finishing touches on Meera's painting, that this was one of her best work. The painting seemed so alive to her, so filled with emotion, passion, shame, guilt. She hoped Meera would be able to see it too. "Done," Rae murmured, and Meera gratefully shifted from her position to stretch her limbs. Eager as a kitten, she rose from the floor to see her painting. "My goodness, Rae. This is beautiful!" she exclaimed, studying the painting intently. "It's so alive." Rae's style was amazing. The brush strokes were clean, and the colors were pleasantly jarring. "You're so talented." Rae watched Meera as she marveled at the painting. The younger woman's hair was unbound and she wasn't wearing a stitch under the sari she'd used like a towel to cover herself. Rae ran a finger over the exposed flesh at Meera's shoulder, unable to keep away from the creamy skin. "It's like you can see me in the vanity mirror," Meera murmured, pointing at the spot in the painting. There was a blur of a reflection there, as Rae had wanted it. When Meera had looked her fill, Rae turned her around. "I want you to have it." Meera looked startled. "What? But I thought you wanted it to remember me by." Rae smiled, but it was a sad smile. "I don't need that when any little thing reminds me of you." Meera perched herself on Rae's thigh. "Sweet-talker," she said softly. "More like a confession." Meera pulled the tie that held Rae's hair in place. The long auburn locks fell around her shoulders. "What am I going to do without you?" Rae didn't answer. She couldn't. They were both living for the now, the present. They had no future and they both knew it. She kissed Meera, shocking the younger girl with the ferocity on her lips. She didn't know how she was going to live without this girl. Her taste was like home to Rae, the feel of her arms too familiar not to miss. She'd had many girls before, but they'd all never had her attention for more than a few days, sometimes even a few hours. But she'd been with Meera for well over two months and yet she couldn't seem to tire of her. Rae didn't want to let her go. She wanted to whisk Meera off to the Dutch and French colonies and have her see the world. Rae wanted to see the world, but now, the dream seemed incomplete without Meera by her side. God, she would do anything to keep this woman. She didn't know if it was the direction of her thoughts or the passion that always flared when they came together, but their embrace became suddenly desperate. Rae ripped the sari off Meera's body and both of them struggled with the buttons on Rae's shirt. Impatient and half-naked, Rae lifted Meera into her arms, walked the few steps to the bed, deposited Meera on it and covered the young girl's body with her leaner one. Without preamble, she kissed Meera deeply and plunged two fingers into the girl's femininity. Meera cried out and arched into her hand. It was desperate, quick, loud. Rae's teeth sank into Meera's neck, biting down as she stroked the fire in the girl. Meera's cries echoed throughout the hotel room, spurring Rae on. She slipped another finger into Meera and curled it upward. The young girl gasped and tensed, and Rae watched as Meera came silently, her throat working as her body struggled to keep up with the pleasure. When Rae withdrew from her, Meera made a slight sound of protest and opened her eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked, her dark brown eyes still warm and sated. Rae wiped her fingers on the towel at the edge of the bed. "Nothing." Meera sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. "I'm not stupid, Rae. I know something's wrong." Rae walked over to her chair and picked up the discarded shirt. She slipped it over her head and buttoned it up. "Rae, talk to me." Rae slid her a glance. God, she was so beautiful. Perfect. A goddess. Unattainable. She looked away. "I'm going to go out for a bit." She tucked her hair under a cap. "I'll be back soon." Meera slid out of the bed and pulled a sheet with her to cover herself. "Don't go. Tell me what you're thinking about. If it's a problem, I can help you solve it." Large, innocent eyes. They were her undoing. Rae pressed a kiss to Meera's forehead. "You can't." Not when you're the problem. "I'll be back soon." She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she had to be away from Meera to think and clear her head. The beach called to her and she walked up and down the stretch for about an hour, thinking. She couldn't come up with a solution to her problems, but she felt calmer. When she returned to the room, however, Meera had left. The painting stood on the easel, mocking her. * It would be dawn soon, Jay knew, and he should let Anita sleep. She'd had an exhausting day – and night – and would be sore from her escapades. It wouldn't be right to touch her again, at least not 'til tonight. The good man in him wanted to scramble out of the bed and douse the heat in him with a cold shower. But the wicked man in him wanted to slide his hand between their bodies, find her core and make her come even before she could wake up. He could almost imagine the honest pleasure on her face, the surprise, the need, the ache... He must've stirred in his erotic musings because she made a muffled sound and moved closer to him. The cold had seeped into the room through the night, and he deduced that she was only seeking him for warmth. She tucked her head below his chin and curled up against him as though she knew the thoughts rioting in his mind and wanted to torture him for them. Her hair was spread out on the white sheets behind her, leaving her back and bottom bare, and he marveled at the smooth, dark curves that greeted him. It wasn't his fault. He was only a man. And she was such a beautiful woman. Before he could even process what he was doing, his fingers had slid between her legs, over the thatch of dark curls and traced the lips that had welcomed him the night before. He knew, from prior experience, that women tended to take a longer while to get warmed up, so he massaged the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs for a few minutes until she gasped softly in his ears. Her voice in pleasure was really such a beautiful thing. Her features as well. Her lips would part in gasps and her forehead would crinkle. It was as though she was battling with the effects of his fingers on her body. He loved that he could do that to her so easily. Moisture gathered in her core soon after that, and it coated his fingers like clear honey. He plunged one finger into her softness and she arched against him, wanting to get closer for more of his caresses. He loved her slowly with his fingers, teasing, drawing out her pleasure whenever he could. She made small, kittenish noises in her throat as he circled the nub that he was so fond of. The combination of her wetness and his touch made her tremble and moan. Very soon, he had her hips moving with his fingers, sometimes in circles, sometimes in a smooth vertical motion. He realized that she was more receptive to the circular motion and went with it, moving his fingers faster over the small, sensitive bud. She wasn't the only one trembling, he soon realized. He felt like he was in a trance, watching her take her pleasure. His body hummed with need, fueled only by her little moans and movements, but he wanted her to come first. He knew the exact moment at which she was close to release. Her breath caught at the back of her throat and she waited for the plunge. But he wanted to make his loving memorable for her, so he increased the pace of his fingers until when she fell, she kept falling for a long, long time. Anita was dying a pleasurable death. She could taste her climax on the tip of her tongue, yet Jay was wont to give it to her. A half-sob of protest escaped her lips and she felt her leg being lifted. One moment she was protesting his withdrawal, and the next she was filled completely by him. His fingers returned to play with her bud, and the pleasure was too much, too heady to be contained within her body. She came with a cry as he began to move within her, his thrusts precise and even. She could hear his uneven breath by her ear as she lingered in the space between consciousness and hazy pleasure. His movements within her were drawing out her pleasure, making her gasp and arch even before she could recover from the first plunge. Moments later, he ground out a curse and she felt him spurt between her thighs. He was trembling, and she put her arms around him for comfort. Her body still quivered with aftershocks, but he seemed to have died from his climax. His eyelids remained closed for a long while. She'd begun to think he was asleep when he opened his eyes – sated emerald eyes that made her feel whole. She gave him an indulgent smile and rose to kiss him tentatively on the lips. He caught her by the waist and roller her under him. "Good morning," he said, watching the rays of the rising sun highlight the smoothness of her skin. Her eyes glowed like jewels, and yet again, he wished to god that he could be a poet. "Good morning," she replied, stretching a little. When she moved her legs, a tiny spasm of pain rippled through her. He didn't miss a thing. "Sore?" "A little." "Me too." "Really?" she asked in surprise. She'd assumed that men weren't affected as women were after lovemaking. "Yes. It's because of the friction. Skin to skin contact. Fast, hard movements..." She turned her head to the side, embarrassed. He laughed and buried his nose in the crook of her neck. "I love making you squirm. You're adorable." She raised shy eyes to him. His hair fell forward as he looked down at her, and she reached up to caress the dark locks. In that moment, she knew he was wrong. He'd called her beautiful but she wasn't beautiful. He was. She shook her head, remembering her vow to herself. She would not romanticize their relationship. Jay was just a companion; a very temporary one in fact. He could depart the island anytime and leave her with a broken heart if she wasn't careful. She would have a good time with him, but that would be it. If she'd learnt anything from her mother, it was not to fall in love with an Englishman. She tucked a lock of hair behind his ears and wriggled out from under him. He fell onto the bed with a muffled oomph. Spying her clothes on the floor, she began to dress. She knew he watched her, knew she should be uncomfortable, but she wasn't. A warm glow nestled within her as she tucked the end of her sari into her petticoat and turned around. His head was cradled on a palm as he watched her. "Will you be coming down for breakfast soon?" she asked, grabbing the pillows strewn on the floor and placing them on the bed. Dear gods, they had definitely made full use of the bed last night. "I think I'll take a nap for a bit." "I'll keep the food warm for you then." He watched her leave, fighting the urge to call her back to his bed. She would be sore, he knew that, but there were ways to get past that. Pleasure was always enhanced with a tiny bit of pain. But he knew why he shouldn't. If she stayed with him any longer, Meera might find her sister missing and come looking for her upstairs. God knew what that could bring. He drew the covers over himself and pulled a pillow against his middle. It felt hollow and meaningless after he'd held Anita all night. He sighed and took a deep breath. The air still smelled like jasmine. It was all of her he was going to get for the rest of the morning. Turning over, he shut his eyes and gave in to sleep. * "Anita! Anita, over here!" Anita tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and turned to look into the dense crowd of the market. She could've almost sworn she'd heard someone call her name. "Anita!" She saw more than heard the person who was calling for her. Pleasantly surprised, she waited until Sami weaved through the crowd to get to her. By the gods, had he matured over the years she hadn't seen him. He now sported a thick mustache and had the sculpted arms of a laborer. She vaguely recalled the times she'd looked at him and thought she would marry him someday. Now the notion seemed to be built on childish fantasies. "Mama, how have you been?" she asked as soon as he got to her side. She had to crane her neck to get a good look at him, which meant that he'd probably grown a handful of inches over the past ten years. "Good. Very good. And you?" "The same. It's been so long since I've seen you. Oh, I heard you got married, though. How is your wife?" She breezed over the fact that she hadn't received an invitation to their wedding. She knew that it was his mother, her grandmother, who had barred him from having any contact with Anita. It wasn't Sami's fault. "She is doing very well. She's somewhere around here as well, with my daughters." "Daughters?" she asked, pleased for him. "Yes. I have five of them." "Five? Goodness. They must be a handful." "They are. But their mother knows how to handle them. I sure don't." They shared a laugh, after which Sami suggested that they take a walk. She agreed because she was genuinely pleased to see him again. Times she'd spent with him had been the most fun when she'd been a child. He'd been her closest friend until he was barred from seeing her. "Where are you working now? Last I heard, you were working for that building company." Anita made a face. "I hated working there. It was such pointless labor, and the pay was barely enough to put Meera through school. Anyway, I stopped working there about two months ago. Now I'm working at the Duke's house by the bay." "The big white one?" "Yes. It's proving to be the best a girl can ask for." Sami gave her a sad smile. "The best a girl should ask for is a roof over her head and a husband by her side." For the first time in minutes, Anita began to feel uncomfortable with Sami. She knew he felt guilty about marrying another woman, though she'd assured him that it was all right with her if he married someone else. She supposed he thought it was his fault that she never married, and he felt terrible about it. "You know I never blamed you for marrying someone else, Mama. You didn't have a choice." "Well, perhaps I did. I should've been a man and crossed my mother's words, but I didn't. I broke my vow to you." "You couldn't break it because I'd already released you from it. It wasn't fair that I expected you to marry me. My blood is tainted," she stated simply. "I didn't care about your heritage, Anita, neither do I care about it now." They'd reached the edge of the market, near the sea. A group of children were playing with marbles and making a ruckus out of it. Anita watched them, Sami's words whizzing past her ears. A smile lighted her face. "Do you remember playing that when we were younger?" she asked, pointing to the kids. "Of course! I always enjoyed beating you." Anita rolled her eyes, but it was certain that he was better than her at the game. They sat on the sand and watched the children play for a while. Sami regaled her with stories of his children, his work, his wife. It amazed her that he was only five years older than her, yet it felt like he'd lived so much more than she had. He was assistant manager at a British company in town, and his income had increased much over the years. It was only last month he'd set down payment for a plot of land somewhere near her old home. In his voice, she heard his excitement over the successes he'd achieved, and she felt genuinely happy for him. It felt familiar, almost painfully nostalgic to sit on the beach and talk to him about life. If she hadn't noticed his mustache every time she looked up, she could've sworn no time had passed since she'd last seen him. When the sun was high in the sky, she realized that she'd spent too much time with him. Jay might've come down for breakfast already, and would be worried if she wasn't home on time. She asked Sami for the time. When he pulled out his pocketwatch and told her it was nearly ten, she gasped and rose to her feet. "I should have been back thirty minutes ago," she fussed as she walked in the general direction of the house. "I'm sorry I kept you," Sami said, following her steps. "No, that's all right. I enjoyed speaking with you," she said without halting. "Anita, wait." Before she could turn toward him, he reached out to grasp her wrist. Though uncomfortable, she didn't pull away immediately for fear of offending him. They'd never touched before, never held hands, never done anything intimate in the time they'd been together as children. It was forbidden, and they both knew it. Were the rules any different because they were adults now? She didn't think so. By the Bay Ch. 06 Sami saw her discomfort and released her hand. Truthfully, he hadn't meant to touch her. He'd just wanted her to slow down so he could speak to her. He apologized for his actions. "I just wanted to ask you if I could see you again. Speaking to you... I've never felt this alive in years." The look in his eyes made her rethink the denial on her lips. It wouldn't be right for her to be meeting him this way when she was supposed to be working. But the time she'd spent with him had been nice, and she was looking forward to the next time they'd meet. She just hadn't thought it wouldn't be coincidental. Anita sighed. She didn't want to hurt him by telling him she didn't want to see him. "I come to the market once every two days at eight thirty. You can talk to me while I shop," she acceded with a small smile. She saw a flash of teeth beneath the dark mustache. "Good. I will see you then." That settled, she turned on her heels and hurried off, hoping to the gods that Jay hadn't awakened. * Her hopes were in vain. When she entered the house, he was sitting in the kitchen, munching on one of the carrots she'd set on the table, waiting for her. She laid the market basket on the counter, feeling suddenly guilty for wasting so much time with Sami when Jay was paying her to keep his house in order. "Good morning," she said with her back to him. "'Morning. Is everything all right?" "Yes. Fine. Why do you ask?" "Well, for one, you haven't looked at me once since you stepped through the door." She heard him snap off another chunk of carrot with his teeth. She turned to face him. "I'm fine." "Anita," he sighed. "You're a horrid liar." He set the remainders of the vegetable on the table and rose. Two shorts steps had him standing in front of her. A gentle finger tilted her head up to meet his. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" It was impossible to want to keep anything from him. "I met Sami at the market today." Jay nodded. "And who might that be?" "Do you remember me telling you that I thought I was going to marry my uncle when I grew up? Well, Sami's my uncle. I know I shouldn't have talked to him for so long. You're paying me to keep your house in order and I wasted an hour with him. I'm so sorry." She said the words in a rush, wanting to get them out as quickly as possible. She hated slacking off from her duties, and she was angry at herself that she hadn't noticed the time sooner. She was a diligent worker, and she hoped he didn't think any less of her because of what she'd done. She looked miserable, and it was all Jay could do not to kiss her to comfort her. Also, the fact that she'd been in close contact with the man she'd had fantasies about marrying was another reason why he wanted to kiss her. He'd never thought himself a possessive kind of man, and he didn't like the feeling budding in his heart. Anita was his. There was no need to be jealous of any other man. Besides, she'd told him that Sami had married another, which allayed his fears somewhat. He kissed her lightly on the lips. "No worries, sweetheart. You've done nothing wrong. I'm not going to stop you from speaking to your relatives just because you work for me. But if any of them come knocking on my door at night... " His light smirk had her blushing instantly. The nights were reserved for themselves only. Images of her nightly escapades rose in her mind and she couldn't help but shiver. Jay was insatiable, taking her two, sometimes even three times a night before he'd let her sleep. She enjoyed everything he'd taught her about loving, but that didn't mean she didn't feel squeamish about her knowledge in the morning. Sharing herself with a man had changed her. She felt different in her skin. The world seemed more alive, more colorful, more exuberant. She felt like she could tangibly feel the joy of life, something she hadn't experienced before. When she lifted her eyes to his, Jay could see the passion simmering below the surface. It was a characteristic of hers. She was always shy and subdued until he broke the tight wall she hid her passions behind. But when the temptress was released, she didn't recede until she'd squeezed every drop of his life from his body. "Beautiful," he murmured as he watched her eyes change colors, pressing his lips to hers more forcefully this time. A few kisses. That's all she would allow herself to have. There were too many things in the house left undone, and since Nanthini was away for the weekend, it was solely Anita's duty to manage it all. Frankly, she shouldn't even be wasting a minute letting him kiss her this way, but she was hard pressed to tell him to stop. Her lips were slightly sore from his kisses the night before, and they tingled so delightfully as he slanted his lips across hers. He hadn't even ended the first kiss, and desire had already shot through his skin so fast that his head hurt. It was animalistic, raw, scary. Yet he could not deny the absolute need to bury himself in her body and let her meld herself to him. He could not deny that it was what he'd thought about most over the past few weeks; he could not deny that he'd been thinking about it as he waited for her to return from the market. He could call her his drug, his medicine, his salvation. Her lips, hair, curves, scent... they drove him to the brink of ecstasy time and time again. But he had to admit that it was Anita herself that made him come like he was emptying his soul in her. His hands tightened on her waist, and he realized he was ravishing her. He knew that as he scraped his teeth down her neck and over her shoulder. He would've stopped if she'd protested even the slightest bit, but her only response was to shudder and tighten her hold on him. The kisses were quickly getting out of hand. That fact registered in Anita's mind, but she was beyond redemption, beyond reality. She wanted everything he'd given her last night, the night before, and all the nights since that first night. Then she wanted more. It scared her, the way he could ignite desire in her so fast. He only had to be within touching distance and her skin would tingle with anticipation. Gods, she was becoming a wanton woman. His fingers reached under her skirt, under her petticoat and she jerked in his arms with a mewl on her lips. He flicked his thumb against the sensitive bundle of nerves at the juncture of her thighs and her arms went around his neck, anchoring him to her. With a deft movement, he lifted her onto the counter and pushed her dress up to her hips. She was drowning. She couldn't think. It was insanity. When he exposed her thighs to the cooler temperature of the room, she felt powerful, sensual. When his fingers dipped into her heat, she felt the undeniable need to arch into his hand. She didn't hear him undo his zipper, but when he thrust into her, he became her world. Every rasp of his breath stimulated her, every thrust made her quiver. Their joining made wet, crude sounds in the room, but to her, nothing mattered but the man between her legs and the arms wrapped around her waist. She took him, feeling her climax upon her mere seconds before it burst behind her eyelids, turning everything colorless. Then she held him as he took his pleasure, whispering her name. * Ruth sat in front of her dresser, fiddling with the ends of her hair. She'd let the golden locks fall loosely around her shoulder, mainly because it was pointless to put them up when they were going to be unpinned a few hours later. She stared at her reflection, taking in the lightly rouged cheeks, flawless skin and plump pink lips. Age had been kind to her. The few wrinkles that marred her face had been masked by facial powder. "Maddox," she called, tilting her chin to the side to critically evaluate her appearance from a new angle. Her assistant appeared in the doorway to the small room, his demeanor as polished as it always was. Charles, her previous assistant, had taken to wanderlust and moved on to another country. It was just as well; men in her life had a tendency to be temporary. "Yes, Madam," Maddox, twenty-two and handsome, asked without expression. "Do you think I'm beautiful?" "What has made you doubt it?" She made a pleased humming sound at the back of her throat. She was, indeed, beautiful. There was no one who could deny it. She slipped the gold chain around her throat. It was a circular pendant; a gift from the earl. She was to see him in a bit and wanted to please him. He was her only benefactor now as almost all the other available rich men had adjourned to Britain in search of cooler temperatures. "Maddox, what would you do if someone called you ugly?" "With all due respect, Madam, no one has." Her eyes met his in the mirror. Her gaze was sharp, and she liked it that he didn't flinch. Maddox was undoubtedly an exquisite man, with his Straits Chinese and British heritage. He knew how to carry himself with the flair of a man of bearing. It was the reason she'd hired him after spending only a moment or two on questions. "But what would you do," she repeated, "if someone insulted you?" "I would make him regret it." "How?" "By any means possible." Maddox wasn't telling her anything she hadn't thought of before. That bastard had hurt her, torn her confidence apart and shredded her ego. She needed to do something to hurt him just as badly. She needed to wreck him completely for insulting and shaming her. "Come here," she commanded the young man standing just inside the doorway. She watched his reflection as he took the few steps that led him to the dressing table. She turned on her stool and took his hands in hers. They were smooth hands, unaccustomed to the workings of manual labor. She laid them against her bare shoulders and reached back, pulling the strings that held her chemise together. When she stood, the material fell around her like a cloud. His eyes moved over her nudity and a slight smile tilted his unsmiling lips. "I want you to fuck me," she whispered, pressing her body against his. "I want you to make me come." "As you wish," he said coolly and took her lips with his. It was simple sex, as she'd wished it. At the end of it, he dozed on her bed and she sat at the edge of it, wrapped in a blanket. She had to meet the earl soon, but she knew he wouldn't mind if she was a little late, especially if she granted him special favors because of her tardiness. It was while she was staring at her writing desk that an idea came to her. She knew immediately that it was a splendid one. There was no other way she could get back at the bastard with that much satisfaction. She had to take away the one thing he'd thought valued much more than Ruth did. The girl. She tucked the sheet around her breasts and sat at the writing desk. The inkwell was dry so she poured a bit of water in to revitalize the ink. The words formed in her mind even as she dipped the quill in ink. Dear Madison, It has been a while since I've written to you, but never doubt that you're constantly in my thoughts and prayers. The seasons here have been long and I've missed your company. The days when we used to have sweet tea and sconces by the sea are long past. The reason I'm writing to you after all these months is because I bear news of great import. It has come to my attention that the new Duke of Shackleton, your son, is considering taking an island girl to wife. I am unsure if you've heard of this absurd decision, but I felt it my duty to warn you of the likelihood. From what I have gathered, the girl is simply interested in his riches more than his love. I believe it best that you advise your son on the issue. I do take some personal responsibility in the matter between your son and the girl. After all, it was I who hired the girl to work in the house. I had deliberately sought a plain girl who would not catch a man's eye so as to avoid this sort of problem, and yet, this girl has managed to pocket your son's affections within these few months. I do have to apologize for my oversight. If you require any assistance in solving the matter, I would be pleased to help you. Your friend, Ruth Tatiana By the Bay Ch. 07 Hey guys! Back with another chapter of BTB! Again, I'd like to thank you guys for all the awesome emails and comments on the previous chapter. Keep 'em coming! Much love, Lily xoxo When Lady Madison received the letter, she collapsed onto the nearest settee. It couldn't be, she thought. Not her son, not James! This had to be some sort of cruel joke! But she knew Ruth Tatiana, and the respectable woman wouldn't lie. Of that, she was sure. Madison rang for tea and a splash of brandy before adjourning to her chamber with the letter clutched tightly in her trembling hands. An island girl, she screamed in her mind. What was James thinking? She should've expected something like this from the boy. He was always one to do things differently, a trait he'd inherited from his rogue of a father. But marrying a colored girl was completely, utterly unacceptable. Why could he not follow in his father's footsteps and make the girl his island mistress? There would be talk about his actions in the ton, yes, but at least it would not affect the family lineage. If Madison knew her son – and she prided herself that she did – he was a man who did what he felt was right. And if he wanted to marry this girl, he would. With or without his mother's blessings. She could not let that happen. It would ruin the family's name, and she would not be able to show her face in society for years to come. Madison spread the letter out on her writing desk, re-reading each line to make sure she was not reacting overmuch to the situation. But when the words 'to wife' played in her mind, she knew she had to take action immediately. She was a woman of great knowledge and a web of connections; she would be able to figure a way to get her son's mind off the girl. She could not have her first-born son wedded to a... a... servant! Panic fluttering in her heart, she picked up a pen and wrote to Sir Roger, her husband's closest friend. He was a good companion of hers, and had helped her cope with the knowledge of her husband's faithlessness when she'd thought she was going to die from the pain of it. She wanted his advice on the current situation so that she knew she was making correct decisions regarding her son and his mischief. She wrote to Roger, asking for an audience with him, and sent the note through one of the servant's boys. Standing by the windows in her room, she watched as the boy rode out on a sable mare, head down and galloping towards the Woods' land. Madison hoped dearly that Roger was in residence, for she feared she would fall apart without another soul to speak to. * Anita awoke feeling troubled. It was not yet morning, she knew, and Jay still slept by her side, and arm curled around her waist as he'd had for nearly a month. She didn't know what had awakened her, but she knew something was not quite right. She turned around in Jay's arms and he mumbled something against her hair, pulling her closer. Smiling lightly, she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, burying herself in his warmth. Her body still hummed from their lovemaking, and she would've gone back to sleep without encouragement if it wasn't for the niggling feeling in her heart. It was a long time before the uneasiness went away, and it was only then that she slept, comforted by Jay's even breathing. * By mid-afternoon, she was convinced that her nighttime uneasiness was due to the fact that she hadn't gone to the temple for a long, long time. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, but she simply hadn't had the time. The ill-effects of it were creeping up on her now, and she made a promise to herself that she would go to the little temple near her old home at the nearest opportunity. The opportunity presented itself much too soon, further confirming her suspicion that it was her infrequency in visiting the temple that was causing her to feel troubled. It was after lunch, and she'd just finished washing all the lunch plates. Meera was still in school and Nanthini was upstairs, cleaning the guest rooms. There wasn't much else to be done for the day, save taking down the clothes when they were dry, but that could take another few hours. On a regular day, she would head upstairs and help Nanthini with the cleaning, but today, the need to be somewhere peaceful and holy was foremost on her mind. She set the clean plates in the drawer and made her way upstairs. Even before her foot left the first step, she could hear the typewriter in the library and knew that Jay was at it again. But, even as she thought about it, she couldn't leave without telling him. He would be worried if he came out of his imaginary world and found her missing. Leaving a message with Nanthini was as good as doing nothing because the older woman spoke so little English that Jay never bothered talking to her. Sighing, she pushed the door to the library open slightly and poked her head through it. "Jay?" she called, then mentally cursed herself. If Nanthini had heard her using Jay's first name, there would be hell to pay. The Indian community was a small one on the island. "Sir?" He looked up when she called him a second time, but his eyes were unfocused, his hands scribbling something on a piece of paper. "Sir, I'm going to the temple for a while," she said, wondering if her words were even being heard or if she was talking to a wall. He continued writing something on other pieces of paper as he said, "Yes, sure. Whatever you want." Her eyebrows rose at that. She wasn't sure that he was actually answering her. That was probably a general answer he gave to anyone who interrupted him as he wrote. She hoped, at least, that he would remember what she'd told him. Somewhat satisfied by his answer, she closed the door to the library, hurried down the corridor, told Nanthini that she was going to the temple, then went downstairs to change. She changed into a blue sari and grabbed a shilling out of her savings to put into the offerings box. Then she was on her way, walking towards the neighborhood she'd called home a few months before. It took her about half an hour to get to the temple, but once she was there, she didn't waste any time in taking her slippers off and washing her feet. She wanted to do an ancient ritual that involved walking around the temple 108 times. She would pray for Meera and Jay; for the gods to give them good health. She attended a little prayer service before starting the walk around the temple. It was long and tiring, but the prayers she chanted were like a balm to her aching feet. By the time she was done, more than an hour had passed since she'd left the house. She said another conclusive prayer, put her shilling in the offerings box and collected the sacred ash from the priest. She'd just smeared the ash on her forehead when the voices of two women reached her ears. They were seated near the entrance of the temple, but at a corner, so no one would hear what they were speaking about. But the younger woman was getting agitated and her voice was rising, catching Anita's attention. The older woman seated next to her attempted to calm her down, but the young woman began to sob quietly. There was a toddler lying on the young woman's lap. A girl, and how beautiful that girl was. Short, dark hair that fell in ringlets around her flushed cheeks; cherubic lips that were parted in sleep. The girl wore a red skirt and a green blouse, and as Anita watched, the girl's limbs began to thrash as her mother started to cry. The older woman took the toddler from her mother and began rocking her soothingly. Anita could not help but watch the scene unfold. It began to dawn on her that she would never have this, any of this. She did not have a mother, nor would she have a mother who would comfort her when she cried. She would not have a child whom she could cherish and love. She would have nothing, no one, especially after Meera married and had her own family. For years, Anita had been completely fine with the knowledge that she would be alone for the rest of her life. But now... it was painful. She knew what had caused the change in her thinking. But she'd known he would leave one day when she'd agreed to be intimate with him. So why had she let herself become entrapped and entangled in the now where she dreamed of some kind of future with the man she adored? She'd thought she had some kind of rein on her emotions, but apparently, she did not. It was all she could do not to give in to her girlish whims and fantasize about how a future with Jay would be like. It would be glorious, she knew, but she had to be realistic. If she were him, she wouldn't have wanted to marry someone like herself. Why, there were probably tons of English ladies willing to marry him at a minute's notice! Sighing, Anita walked to the entrance of the temple to put on her slippers. Just as she did, she heard the young woman cry, "How do you know, mother? How could you possibly know that he isn't seeing another woman?" Startled, Anita waited for the other woman's reply. But the older lady's voice was too calm and too soft for Anita to hear. "I cannot stop him from taking another wife, you know that! We have five daughters, and that alone is enough reason for him to take another wife. He's always wanted sons, you know that." Anita's heart ached for the poor woman, and she shook her head sadly as she turned away from the temple. She was lucky she did not have a problem like that with Jay. As soon as that thought entered her mind, she let out a frustrated groan. Jay was not her husband, so why would she have that thought in the first place? Gods, she was going crazy! She needed to get her situation clear in her head. She was deep in thought, taking the short route home through a forest clearing, when she felt someone following her. It was early in the evening and the sun was still bright, so she didn't worry too much about things a woman should worry about when walking through the forest. But when she turned around to see if there was anyone walking behind her, there was no one there. She walked a few more steps and turned around again, quickly, and saw something jump hastily into a nearby bush. Relieved that it was not some kind of sexual predator, but amused at the creature, Anita resumed walking towards home. But it wasn't long before she felt like she was being followed again. She turned, and the mongrel looked startled. It took two steps back then yipped at her. Anita laughed. It was so adorable, not more than a pup, in fact. When she moved toward it, it moved back. When she walked, it followed her. At the end of the clearing, she knelt and called for the puppy to come to her. It seemed hesitant, looking at her then around her for signs of danger. Seeing none, it took little steps forward until Anita could reach out and scratch its head. She'd never seen a dog like this one before. It had so much hair – too much, in fact. It had to be a special breed or something. She'd never seen dogs like that, but she'd heard of them. A lot of English people kept dogs like that in their houses. She scratched his head, then his chin, and he made a purring sound like he was enjoying her administrations. He sidled closer to her as well, rubbing his small body along her thigh. "Who do you belong to, little one?" she asked, scooping him up in her arms. "Who did you run away from?" He was so light and so easy to carry around. She couldn't remember the last time she'd held anything so precious... well, maybe the day Meera was born, but not much after that. The little man was so cute as well, snuggling into her arms and purring when she petted him. When the house was in sight, she put him down though she was loathe to, and told him to run off to where he'd come from. He simply looked at her, head tilted, large brown eyes blinking with innocence. "Um, shoo." She made elaborate hand gestures but he didn't move. In the end, she decided to walk into the house by herself, leaving him behind. But before she could close the back gate, he wheedled himself in through the crack and entered the house. He pranced on his short legs and yipped at her again, thinking they were playing a game. "Oh, no, little one. You're not supposed to be in here," she worried, shooting a glance to Jay's window on the second floor. She assumed he was still in the library, working on whatever he worked on all the time. She opened the gate again, gesturing for the dog to go back home. It didn't move. "What's that?" Nanthini called from the kitchen window. Anita looked from the dog to the woman. "Um, it's a dog." "Looks like a squirrel to me. What is it doing here?" "It followed me home and doesn't want to leave." "Just take a stick and whack it. It'll know it's not welcome. Come in. It's time to start cooking dinner." Nanthini disappeared, leaving Anita staring at the fluffy mongrel. He stared back at her, almost as if he was chastising her for even thinking about picking up a twig. "What am I to do with you?" she thought aloud. Just then, a bee whizzed past them, and the dog took off after it, prancing on its little feet. Panicked that it would get into the house, Anita flew after it, only to find that the faster she ran, the faster the dog ran as well. It was like playing a game. She ended up chasing it around the backyard, the dog yipping occasionally and she laughing even though she was out of breath. It was so small and yet it ran like a bullet, challenging her. In a final attempt to catch it, she lunged for the bundle of energy and caught it by the waist, dragging it across the grass and cuddling it against her chest. Panting heavily, it kicked upwards and licked her chin. She squealed and fell to the grass. Jay felt like a pervert. He'd been watching Anita ever since she'd stepped through the gate with the dog. The dog's sharp yips had shaken him out of his literary musings, and he'd found himself attracted to watching her when she didn't know she was being watched. It affected him in a way he couldn't begin to understand. It was somewhat sexual, but yet again, it affected his heart more than his dick. It was as though his desire stemmed from his attraction to her character more than her luscious, delicious body. And then she'd begun running around the yard, chasing the dog, and he'd felt need for her pool low in his belly. If someone had shot a syringe of whiskey through his blood, it would've had the same impact on him. He groaned, laying his head against the glass of th window, trying to cool his blood. But then he heard her squeal, and all his efforts went to waste. She laughed, and his blood hummed faster. God, he wanted to kiss her. The thought only had to enter his mind before he was pushing away from the window and taking the stairs down two at a time and striding to the backyard. He ignored the maid in the kitchen and shoved open the back door. Anita was lying on the grass with the dog under her, ticking its belly like she would a baby's. When she heard the door open with a slam, she looked up with a startled expression on her face. When she saw Jay, she righted herself quickly and stood. A guilty expression crossed her face. "Did we disturb you? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make so much noise," she admitted sheepishly. He shook his head enigmatically and crooked a finger at her. She tucked loose strands of her hair behind her ears and came forward. When she was within touching distance, he curled an arm around her waist, pulled her roughly to his chest and kissed her fiercely. She tried to push him off for a moment – she managed to remember that Nanthini was nearby – but not for long. It was a matter of seconds before she gave in to the pressure of his lips because she couldn't help but do so. It wasn't a gentle kiss by any means. If she hadn't known better, it was as though he was marking his possession, branding her as his. She didn't know what had made him want her this way at such an odd time of the day, but she didn't mind. There was something terribly exciting about the way his eyes gleamed and his lips caressed hers. As she always did, she became malleable and pliant, leaving him to handle her in whatever way he wished. When he pulled his lips from hers, she wasn't the only one who was shocked. "What the -," he bit off, and both of them looked down to find the dog growling and pulling at his pantleg. "Oh, shoo. Go away! Go. Shoo!" Anita tried to wave it away. But the dog seemed intent on protecting its new mistress from her ravisher and continued attacking Jay's pants with a vengeance. "I'm sorry," Anita said, reaching down to scoop the bundle of adorable nonsense into her arms. "He was very nice to me outside. I don't know what possessed him." "Males tend to be very possessive when it comes to their females," he said without a hint of amusement in his voice. Her eyes rose to lock with his and she saw the intensity in them that made her tremble. It excited her, his new need for her, and her eyes dropped to his lips. But when she moved closer to him, the dog growled and she bit back a resigned smile. He didn't bother to mask his frustration. "I don't care what you do with that thing. Skin it, bury it, hide it in a pot with boiling water, anything! I want you right now." "But I- Nanthini's waiting -." "Tell her I need you up there to fix my torn pantleg or something. I'm sure she can handle dinner by herself." She ran her fingers over the dog's head, anything to keep her trembling hands away from his sight. "I will see you there in a few minutes." Back in the kitchen, she took a shallow bowl and filled it with water. As soon as she set it down, the dog began to lap at it with its small tongue. Anita stroked its head a few times, encouraging it to drink, before fetching the biscuit tin and pouring a handful of biscuits on the floor. As with the water, the dog quickly began to make its way through the biscuits. Anita didn't wait for the dog to finish its meal; she had more pressing matters to attend to. She made her excuses to Nanthini, – who seemed to have missed Jay's ardent display of affection – scrubbed her hands free of fur, and headed upstairs. She was hurrying to the bedroom when a hand shot out of the library and dragged her inside. Her back was against the closed door before she could comprehend what had happened. "Don't move," he whispered against her ear, his body pressing hers into the unyielding wood, his warm breath making her shiver. One hand delved into her hair and tilted her neck to the side so that his teeth could rasp against the long column. When she trembled against him, he nipped lightly at her bottom lip. "Don't move," he repeated. "I want to taste you." He'd become an expert in manipulating her gowns and saris. Today, she was still in her sari after visiting the temple. Saris were the easiest to untangle. If he undid her petticoat, the rest of the sari would fall to the floor after it. But he took his time getting to that point, caressing every bit of exposed skin from her neck to the temptation of her beautifully sculpted navel. He was on his knees in front of her when he reached behind her and pulled at the strings to her petticoat. The material fell, leaving her bare except for the sari blouse she still sported. She was perfect. He could already smell her before he touched her. For several moments, he simply laid his forehead against her stomach and breathed in her scent. His hands caressed her hips, dipping teasingly low, then moving back to her waist. Slowly, excruciatingly, he placed kisses down her stomach, over the thatch of curls and on the little nub that she was so sensitive to. At the first flick of his tongue, her back arched, pushing herself more firmly into her mouth. A nip to her nether lips had her trembling. The friction of his tongue was indescribable! His pace was unrelenting as his tongue flicked across her bud repeatedly. She wanted desperately to bury her fingers in his hair, but she felt like she couldn't move, so she settled for fisting her hands. By the Bay Ch. 07 He could see what he was doing to her; he could feel it. Her head was thrown back against the door, her eyes tightly shut. Her sex and body were humming with need for him, just as his was for her. Anita felt consciousness begin to fall away, little fragments at a time, as he licked and suckled at her core. As his fingers exacerbated the pleasure, the little fragments became larger and larger chunks, until she had nothing left. All she had to do was stay still and receive the pleasure he was giving her. She knew her legs were trembling, her thighs felt like dough, but when the pleasure burst through her body, she was oblivious to anything but the steady, intense pulses in her core. She didn't know that she'd cried out or that her wetness had leaked onto his chin. He rose, wiping his chin with the edge of his shirt, then unbuckled his pants. Anita was still nestled in the world between consciousness and pleasure, and he waited for her to return by placing tiny kisses along her jaw. Slowly, when she began to moan at the back of her throat, he lifted her and wrapped her legs around his waist. Her back was pressed against the door and he told her to hold on to him as tightly as she could. Without preliminaries, he thrust into her, true and deep, and she clenched herself around him as his length brushed across sensitive skin. Her eyes were open now and she was receptive to the new kind of pleasure he was giving her. She wrapped herself around him and held on as he loved her in a position they hadn't tried over the past month. This way, his skin warmed hers, and she felt a part of his body brushing against her nub. All too soon, she began to feel her body crest and prepare itself for the fall. His body began to tense as well, and as his thrusts became quick and hard, she felt herself falling harder than she had the first time. Surprised whimpers escaped her lips as she felt him spurt his seed deep inside her, and the heat of the liquid made her pleasure more intense. She felt him grow soft inside her, felt the shudders in his body. Leaning forward, she took the liberty of pressing a kiss to his lips. His eyelids flickered open, the satisfaction apparent in them , and she realized that nothing else in the world could make her feel more like a woman than those eyes. One look, and she felt beautiful and wanted. He set her on the floor and tried to re-tie her sari for her. But apparently, he was more skilled in taking it off than putting it on. They helped each other dress, kissing and caressing, laughing, and enjoying one another. She only left the library when the sun had set. * Later that night, Anita lay on top of Jay, exhausted from another bout of lovemaking. By the gods, the man was insatiable, but then again, so was she. She rolled off him before their bodies started to stick together. But she didn't roll far; he wouldn't let her. "Jay?" she whispered, wondering if he was already asleep. Her fingers were tracing the tattoo he had on his hip. "Mmm," came the mumbled reply. "Would you tell me about your tattoos?" she asked, pressing the pad of her thumb to the tribal curves. His eyes opened and he turned toward her. "What do you want to know?" "What do they mean?" He adjusted her body more comfortably against his side. "Well, the dragon on my arm is for my platoon. We called ourselves the dragons because we were always put on the front line. And, you know, as the fairytale goes, the prince has to defeat the dragon to get to the princess." "Didn't it hurt?" "In the beginning. Then your body gets used to the pain." "What about the one on your hip?" He laughed softly. "That's just for vanity's sake. I love tattoos. They're so primal and unlike everything I've grown up with." "I think they look beautiful on you," she said around a yawn. "Thank you." A moment of silence passed between them. Then she said, "Jay, would you tell me about your family?" She felt him tense a little. "What would you like to know?" She looked into his eyes to see if she could read the emotion there. She couldn't. "Anything." He took a deep breath to try and relax himself. "Well, my family history can be traced back to about 400 years. There have been 13 Dukes before me. My real first name is Edward, but most people call me James because Edward was my late father's name. When I went to school, I shortened James to Jay because there were too many James in my class and I wanted to stand out. My stepmother is more of a mother to me then my actual mother. I have a step-sister and a younger brother. What more do you want to know?" He described himself so impersonally that she had to take a second to digest the information. "Stepmother?" she asked at last. "Your father has two wives?" He smiled. "I doubt that's legal back home. But no, Ruby was my father's mistress. She's a splendid woman. You might like her." Anita doubted she would ever meet this woman, but she nodded anyway. "What about your mother?" "What about her?" "Is she a nice woman? Does she look like you?" Jay had never thought about that before. "Well, yes, I suppose I do look like her. We have the same dark hair and green eyes. Funny that I've never thought I looked like my mother before." "That isn't a bad thing," she said, assessing his tone. "Your mother must be a very beautiful woman." "Yes, but I've just never got along with her. She's a horrid woman. I hate to think that I take after her." "Why is she horrid?" "She's just... everything I hate. She stands for everything conventional and rigid and... she made my father's life hell." "Being conventional isn't bad, Jay." "You wouldn't understand unless you lived with her." She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Be calm. She's not here with us." He sighed. "I know." They stewed in silence for a while, both reflecting on their conversation. "What about you?" he asked later. "Do you look like your mother?" "Not really," she said, her eyes blinking sleepily. It was getting late and she was exhausted. "We have the same coloring, though. My mother was dark, but she was beautiful." "I could say that about you, too." Anita smiled, loving the glow in her heart. "What about your father?" She shook her head. "My mother never really told me who my father was. Though I did get my eyes from him. My mother always thought my eyes were quite unnerving." "Why?" "She told me once that she always kept seeing my father in me, but she never actually told me who my father was." "Didn't you ask?" She shrugged. "It doesn't make a difference to me. I don't need a father." He pulled her up against him and kissed her. "I love that about you. Your independence. It's new to me." "I didn't have a choice in the matter, really." "But – do you hear that?" They quieted and listened as a small scratching noise came from the other side of the door. "What's that?" Jay slipped out from under the covers and pulled on the pants he had discarded earlier. Anita covered herself with the bedsheet. He opened the door just a crack to see who or what was on the other side of the door. But just as he opened it, the dog that had attached itself to Anita scurried through the crack and jumped onto the bed with her. He had to roll his eyes. The mutt was pushing his limits. Anita pulled the dog to her body and stroked it soothingly. When Jay got under the covers with her again, she sidled up beside him, put the dog next to her and rubbed its tummy. "I suppose we'll have to make room for him now?" "If you wouldn't mind." He watched her pat the dog until its eyelids began to flicker. "What are you going to name him?" he whispered in her ear. The dog's ears stood at attention immediately at the sound of Jay's voice. Anita chuckled. "I was thinking of Beau, what do you think? I was going to call him Beautiful, but that would be embarrassing for a boy." "Beau's quite perfect for him. He strikes me as the vain sort." She shot him a look. Yawning, he turned over and blew out the lamp. "Goodnight then." "Goodnight," she murmured, turning over to kiss him, but stopped short and laughed when Beau growled his discontentment. * As was his habit, Sami met her at the market the next morning. She'd become to expect and even like having him around to talk to. He was such a sweet and kind man that sometimes, she felt a twinge of regret that she hadn't been allowed to marry him. But, thinking about Jay and the feelings he stirred within her outweighed the regret that surfaced when she talked to Sami about the past. Jay was a good man as well, and though she tried not to compare them both, she always thought about what she would have lost had she married Sami. "How is Meera doing these days?" he asked as she browsed the selection of vegetables at her favorite stall. She picked up a ripe tomato and gave it a squeeze. Then she dropped it into her basket. "She's doing well. She'll be finishing school in another month or so." Anita couldn't keep the hint of pride from her voice. "Oh, yes. It's a wonder you managed to put her through school without your mother around. You must be very proud." "I am, yes," she murmured. "So how old is the girl now?" "Eighteen, though she'll be nineteen in a few months. Why do you ask?" "Nineteen and educated," he wiggled his eyebrows, "you better get her married off quickly." Startled by his tone, she turned to look at him, a carrot dangling off her fingers. "Why do you say that?" "She's close to becoming a spinster. Once she turns twenty, I don't think she'll have many marriage offers. Why, my wife was fourteen when I married her." Seeing Anita's distress, he amended, "Of course, we have to take Meera's looks into account. I don't think she'll have much trouble attracting her future husband." "I just... I've never really thought about getting Meera married. I always knew she would get married someday, but she's eighteen now, and I haven't realized... Where did all the years go?" "I could say the same about my nine year old. It feels like yesterday that she was just a toddler." Anita turned back to her shopping, reveling on what Sami had just said. She would talk to Meera about it that night. After purchasing the items she would need for lunch and dinner, Anita prepared to say goodbye to Sami. She was just about to tell him she had to leave when he asked her if she wanted to have some cake with him at the little bakery they used to frequent when they were children. All she could do after that was give him a droll stare. The snake! He definitely knew how to keep her with him longer each time. He was dangling chocolate cake in front of her nose, and she was hard-pressed to resist his offer. But how had he remembered that she couldn't resist those sweet treats? It had been ten years! "Oh, I remember," he said with a smile as they headed toward the bakery. "I remember everything." It was a small place run by an old British lady. She was kind and gentle as only a grandmother could be, and usually gave out free sweets to children when they walked past her bakery. When they stepped into the cozy little room, two things hit Anita at once. First was the incredible aroma coming from the kitchen. The second was that the place hadn't changed one bit over the years. The little old lady who ran the place still sat in her chair by the old bookshelf, sipping her tea and reading a book. When the bell over the door rang as they entered, she looked up with a ready smile and shuffled forward to peer up at them. It was apparent that age had caught up with the lady. "It's Sami, isn't it?" she said, wagging her finger at him. "Don't think I don't recognize you under all that hair, young man. I know you plain as day." She turned to Anita, still peering through narrowed eyes. "And who's this dear? Oh my. Are you the girl he used to run around with as a child? Lord, you've both grown. Makes me more aware of how I've aged as well." "Oh, you don't look a day older than twenty, Grandma Beth," Sami said in perfect English. It was the first time Anita had heard him speak the language, and she realized he had a crisp British accent. It must be because he worked with the English so much. She was impressed; he sounded so... regal. "You haven't changed since the last time I saw you." "Pish-posh," the lady waved his comment away, though they could see the blush on her cheeks. "What can I do for you children today?" "We walked all the way from the market for some of your chocolate cake, Gran. With syrup and those nuts that you sprinkle on the top." "That was always your favorite," she said, her eyes twinkling with remembrance. "Would you like it boxed?" "No, no. We'll have it here." "Of course. I'll be only a moment, dears. Have a seat." Anita took note of the time before she sat by the window with Sami. She didn't want the time to escape her like it had last time. She couldn't shirk her duties without feeling dreadfully guilty. Sami began speaking about the times when they would come to this shop when they were younger. His mother always gave him the extra shillings she had, and he would always spend them on Anita. Once, when he'd been sixteen, he'd bought her a slice of chocolate cake because she'd told him she'd never tried it before, and watching her enjoy it had been one of the most sinful pleasures he'd ever experienced. He couldn't deny that she'd haunted his dreams for the past ten years. He'd hated himself for not being man enough to stand up for the girl he loved all those years ago. He'd let her go because his mother had decreed it. It had been a stupid, foolish mistake and if he was granted one wish, he would wish to turn back the time. He knew what he wanted now, and he wouldn't hesitate to sell his soul for her. She was so innocent, so carefree, so womanly. Every aspect of his being called out to her. She was also so refined, having lived in British households before, something he respected greatly. Her fingers were gentle, she never shouted, and she was devoted to her work. Moreover, she was beautiful. She'd grown from a scrawny little girl to a woman with a body that he thought was perfect. He admired everything about her, from her beauty to her character. Gods, he wished things were different. When the lady set the generous slices of chocolate cakes before them, Anita didn't hesitate to dig her fork into it. The first taste of chocolate on her tongue was almost painful; it had been years since she'd had anything that sweet, and her tongue tried hard to cope with the intense flavor. But a second later, the taste of thick chocolate seeped into her, and she made a quiet humming sound at the back of her throat. She didn't know that she'd closed her eyes to better savor the treat. "Oh, this is so good," she purred as she swallowed the first mouthful, her fork already spearing more cake. He stared at her unflinchingly, his gaze riveted on her lips and the way she seemed to take so much pleasure in eating something so simple as a slice of cake. "What?" she asked when she caught him staring. "Nothing." He shook his head quickly. "Eat your cake," she said with a smile as she devoured hers as quickly and delicately as she could. When she was done, she sat back and heaved a sigh. She was so full, and yet she felt like she could eat another ten slices if they were on her plate. Sami had long since finished his share, having taken impressive man-sized bites of his cake, and watched her pat her stomach with satisfaction. "Thank you, that was delicious." "It was my pleasure." And indeed, it was. "You've got some syrup on your lip." "Oh." She swiped at her mouth with the napkin on the table, but when she didn't get it off, he reached over and wiped it away with his thumb. Anita froze on instinct. It was the second time he'd touched her since she'd started speaking to him again, and his touch made her quite uncomfortable. But at least this time, he was only helping her and she would've moved away if it knew it wouldn't hurt his feelings. "Thank you," she said as he wiped his thumb on his own napkin. He was tempted to say 'my pleasure' again, but she would interpret it the wrong way. So he simply nodded and pulled his wallet out. He knew the cakes would cost less than what he put on the table, but he didn't mind. The extra was for the service. He said his farewell to the lady and led Anita out of the shop. He knew she would say she needed to leave, but he didn't want her to. He wanted her to stay, to spend more time with him. Without her, he'd have to return to what was real and horrid in his life. She was the only fantasy he felt he could possibly have. He didn't want her to leave. But in the end, she did, after thanking him for the treat. And he watched her walk away until the forest swallowed her whole. * That night, Meera sat before her small writing desk, head held in her hands. It had been days, even a month since she'd written anything substantial. The afternoons she'd used to write had been taken up by sleep, since her nights were now otherwise occupied by Rae. Meera shook her head. Rae. She should never have let the woman touch her. Oh gods, but it had felt so good. Meera's body trembled when she recalled her first time with Rae. It had been on the beach, and it had been the most magical experience of her life. She wouldn't have traded it for anything in the world – other than the alleviation of the pain in her heart at the thought of Rae's leaving. As it was, she hadn't seen Rae in days, ever since she'd walked out on their lovemaking. She still couldn't understand or guess what was troubling Rae so much that she'd neglected to meet Meera for so many days. Meera had searched everywhere – from the beach to her hotel room, but Rae wasn't anywhere to be found. Her heart was breaking, of that Meera was sure. She didn't know what had caused Rae to reject her this way, but it made Meera want to tear her hair out. Stifling tears – for she'd shed too many over the past few days – Meera cracked her notebook open and stared at the words on the page. Pencil marks. Scrawls. Gods, they meant nothing to her compared to reality. She wanted Rae. She wanted Rae so badly. She needed to feel the older girl's hands on her, even if it was for just one night. * Rae stared at the wavering reflection of Meera through the candlelit window. Was she crying? Was she writing? Was she thinking of her absent lover? Rae couldn't decipher her expression from this distance, but she knew Meera was too headstrong to be crying over a lover who had told her from the start that she wouldn't be staying forever. The Meera she knew would be thinking of her lover as a fond memory already, while spinning a story around the time they'd been together. It was stupidly ironic that Rae – the one who'd made clear from the start that she'd wanted nothing permanent – was the one who was left pining for the golden-haired, brown-eyed girl who was utterly mismatched for her. She was seated on a low branch of a tree, watching Meera for hours she'd lost count of. Time went unnoticed when it came to Meera, be it when they were making love or just staring into each others' eyes. When Meera was with her, Rae felt like nothing else really mattered in the world. God, how had she ever let this happen to her? Shaking her head, Rae looked up to the other window which was illuminated by the glow of an oil lamp. It was probably the room of the owner; the man Meera's sister was working for. It was half past one in the morning and it was a wonder that any British fop was still awake. She was about to look away when someone appeared at the window. A woman. Rae squinted in an attempt to get a clearer picture of her. She was naked, of that Rae was certain. The dark woman leaned against the window, placing her palms on it to steady herself, and even before the man came up behind her, Rae knew what was going to happen. By the Bay Ch. 07 Was it just her imagination, or could she hear the cries of the couple as they gave each other unspeakable pleasure? Even from afar, she could see the trembling of the woman's thighs and the tender caress of the man's hands on her breasts. Rae knew she shouldn't stare, but what she couldn't look away from was the intimacy the two shared. Although the woman's face was turned away from him, the man leaned forward to capture her lips with his, sealing their connection even in that position. Rae smiled. She knew how a connection like that would make the woman feel – special and cherished. Rae had felt it numerous times herself, but only with one person. She started when the candle blew out in Meera's room. Her pocketwatch told her that it was about two in the morning. Had it been a month ago, they'd be locked in a trance-like pleasure by this time, but now, Meera was going to bed alone. Rae's ship would be leaving the dock in another few hours. She hadn't wanted to say goodbye, to spare Meera the pain of it, but now, that didn't seem right. Meera deserved to know that what they had together had ended, and Rae had to move on to new places and meet new people. She couldn't leave Meera hanging onto a hollow hope that Rae would come back for her one day, because Rae would not. Meera had a right to know that Rae was leaving. It was for that reason that Rae didn't simply turn her back on the house, the lovers, and trudge back to the hotel. She had to see Meera once, if only to say goodbye. Things had been too messy to leave alone. With a sigh, Rae jumped off the low branch and landed silently on her feet. She knew the task ahead of her would not be easy. If not for Meera, then for herself. * Madison alighted from the phaeton, taking Sir Roger's outstretched hand as she did so. Her dark curls fell about her shoulders and her cheeks held a healthy glow from the rouge she'd hastily smeared on them. She didn't want to look harried; a woman of her status should be able to handle any problem with grace and decorum. She gave the handsome man a small smile as she stepped from the vehicle. He raised her hand to his lips and welcomed her to his home. "It has been a while since you paid a visit, my dear." "I know, Roger. There's always something for a dowager duchess to do, it seems." "Well, it's marvelous to see you again. Shall we?" He extended his arm and she took it, gracefully ascending the steps to the large countryside manor. He led her to the sitting room, but she stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. "Perhaps somewhere a little more private?" she asked nervously, and he hesitated, mulling the wisdom of taking a widow to his private study. But when the lady began to bite her lip anxiously, he relented and took her in the direction of the stairs. Madison seated herself in a comfortable leather chair opposite Roger, fidgeting with her gloves and the folds of her modest peach day gown. Roger watched her fidget, not entirely sure what she deemed had warranted his immediate attention. He'd known this woman for a little more than thirty years, and in those years, he hadn't managed to understand the way she thought. When she remained mum for minutes, Roger rang for some tea. Perhaps a light drink would calm the lady enough for her to speak. "Thank you for seeing me at such short notice," she began softly after he'd sent the servants away. "No problem at all, my dear." "You were the only person I could think of who could help me when I received the letter." His curiosity piqued, Roger raised an eyebrow. "And what might that letter concern?" Her emerald eyes, somewhat ashamed, rose to meet his. "My son." "James? Or Andrew?" "James. It's always James." Roger leaned back in his seat and laced his fingers together. Ah, James. The boy was so much like his father that it was no wonder Madison worried for him. After all, Edward hadn't been the perfect man or husband. "What about James? Is he home yet? Last I heard, he'd run off to one of the colonies." "Singapore, yes. And no, he has yet to return." She reached into her reticule and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "I received a letter earlier today from one of my friends on the island. She's a very darling woman, which is why her words so worrying." "Could I see the letter?" She unfolded the letter with fingers that trembled slightly. Then she laid it on the desk. He was quick to scan through the words. Taking an island girl to wife? It was certainly like James to do that. After all, his father had taken a saloon dancer as a mistress. But, Roger thought, the father knew better than the son. Edward's indiscretions hadn't marred the family lineage. James' however, would destroy the family bloodline and the family name. "Could this be a jest?" he asked her, turning the paper around to look for some form of indication that it was. Madison shook her head. "I don't believe so. It is entirely like James to do such a thing." Roger nodded in agreement. "He does take after his father an awful lot." Madison simply looked down at her hands. Sensing that he'd said something he shouldn't, Roger continued. "Well, I see your problem now, my dear. Have you thought of a solution yet?" "Well, I have. But it might not work." "Let's not rule it out, Maddy. Let's hear it." "I was thinking that we could bribe her. Since she's only after our wealth, a good sum would keep her away from the boy, would it not?" "Yes. But that doesn't ensure that she won't come back to us for more when the money dwindles." Madison nodded, remaining quiet. "Another option might be to separate them," Roger thought aloud. "What might bring him back to England?" "Not very much, I assure you," she replied with a sad laugh. "He hates me. He wouldn't return even if you wrote to him that I was on my deathbed." "The boy does not hate you, my dear," Roger tried to console her, although he knew that both of them knew the truth. "What if you wrote to him about Edward's will? Would he come back to England to solve the legal issues?" "Perhaps. But he was present at the reading of Edward's will. He knows there is no new clause or anything that has been left unsettled." "I beg your pardon, Maddy, but there are ways to create a new clause in Edward's will." Madison blinked, understanding. That plan might prove to work, but... "What if he returns to the girl after the matter is resolved?" They were deep in thought when there the noise of a commotion in the hallway made them both look up. The doors to the study were flung wide. Elena, Roger's nineteen year-old daughter scurried into the room, her cheeks flushed with exertion and her hair in disarray. The girl did not notice that her father was receiving a guest. "Daddy, I'll be going to Holly's house for supper. You don't mind, do you? Holly's been jealous that I haven't visited her because she heard from Kathryn that I had lunch with Sarah last week. I'll take the pink carriage, and I'll be back before – oh." Her rambling came to a halt when she noticed the small woman seated in the tall leather chair. "Your grace," Elena murmured through shock and breathlessness. Then she fell into a deep curtsy. "I did not know you were visiting. I'm pleased to see you again." "That's all right, my dear. It was a last minute decision." "Go on now, sweetheart. I'll see you again tonight," Roger said roughly and watched as Elena curtsied again before walking out the door at a more reasonable pace than she'd entered it. "Nice girl," Madison commented. "Perhaps a little rough around the edges." "You don't need to mince your words, Maddy. She's a wild one. Getting her wedded is going to be a chore." Madison clucked her tongue. "Don't worry, Roger. She's a nice girl. I'm sure suitors will be knocking on your door soon enough." "I hope 'soon' is within another two years, or she'll be a spinster for the rest of her life." Madison shuddered on the inside. There really was nothing worse than being a spinster in society's eyes. As Roger talked about the antics he had to put up with from his daughter, an idea began to form in Madison's mind. Roger was worried about his daughter never marrying, and Madison was worried about her son marrying the wrong girl. Something began to click in her mind, and before she knew it, she was telling Roger of it. It would solve both their problems, she told him. And if executed properly, it might succeed. Roger seemed to be in agreement with the plan; in fact, he thought it a brilliant idea. They spoke of it for hours, until Madison became quite giddy with delight. She could not believe her problems would be solved, and in such a joyous way! They dined together for supper before she returned to the Shackleton manor, promising to send him the parchment as soon as she could. They had a plan that would bring her son home for good and free him from the clutches of the blasted island girl. Madison hoped dearly it would work. * Rae slipped into the house and into Meera's room without a sound. The house was quiet around her. Apparently, the noise the couple was making upstairs didn't trickle down to the first floor. She shut the door to Meera's bedroom quietly and leaned on it for a second. The moonlight reflected Meera's pliant form on the bed, making her hair glow like tangled moonlight. Rae traced the sleeping girl's features with her eyes, committing each one to memory even though she knew she'd never forget anything of the body that had trembled so sweetly in her arms on many occasions. She walked over to the narrow bed and knelt by it, stifling the emotions that rose within her when the scent of her lover drifted from the sheets. At that moment, everything in Rae told her not to go, not to leave this perfect woman and this perfect island, but she knew she needed to. She'd suffocate if she was ever tied down by anyone or anything, and she'd only end up hurting Meera more if she stayed longer but left anyway. Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to Meera's cheek, the last she'd allow herself. She didn't count on Meera's soft eyes blinking open and focusing blearily on the kneeling form by her bed. "Rae?" Her voice was wary and soft, as though she assumed Rae to be a dream that would wash away if her voice was too loud. Rae cleared her throat and reached out to push Meera's curls back. "Hi, sexy," she said, her voice equally raspy. "How're you doing?" Meera sat up, her sheet falling about her. She was wearing a sari because the nights tended to be chilly. "Wha- what are you doing here? Where have you been?" "Around. I just wanted to see you tonight." She didn't know how it had happened, but Rae found Meera's arms wrapped around her neck, her body pressed so close that Rae could feel her heartbeat. Meera held on to her lover like she wouldn't let her go again. "Rae, never leave me again. I love you. I love you so much." Rae froze, Meera's words slicing through her heart and cleaving it in two. No, no, no, no! Sensing Rae's stillness, Meera pulled away far enough to take in the expression on Rae's face. When she did, however, Meera pulled away from Rae completely. She scooted backward slowly, warily. "It's today, isn't it? You're leaving today." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. Rae paused a long moment before nodding. Meera turned away, slinging her legs over the other side of the bed. She sat there for a long, long while, pondering her stupidity. Then she said, "Leave, please." Heeding her words, Rae rose and walked slowly to the door. Her hands were tucked in her pockets so that Meera wouldn't see how badly saying goodbye was affecting her. Before she opened the door, Rae looked back at the small woman on the bed, head bowed, shoulders shaking, and knew she'd be leaving her heart behind. "Goodbye," she whispered, and then, she was gone. * Rae didn't leave the house. Instead, she walked through the kitchen, into the dining area and headed up the stairs to the room she'd seen the couple in. She knocked on the door a few times and plastered a devil-may-care smile over her pain before entering. Jay was seated on the bed, his fingers reaching for the candles on the bedside table. Rae's eyes had long adjusted to the darkness, and she walked easily to the bed and sat on the end of it. The candle came to life and lit the room. "Hello, big brother," Rae said around a smile. The look on Jay's face was priceless. He blinked several times, opened his mouth, and then began the blinking routine again. The woman beside him stirred and her eyelids flickered. "Catherine? What – how – what the – when did you even – what?!" It was a perverse satisfaction she received from seeing the look of disbelief on Jay's face. His hair was tousled, and when he shook his head to dislodge the image of her sitting at the edge of his bed, the locks entangled themselves even more. By this time, the woman, too, had awakened and pulled the edge of the sheet over herself to cover her body. Though, truthfully, she didn't have to. Rae didn't feel the interest in any woman anymore. "It's nice to see you too, Jay," she said, crossing her legs beneath her on the bed. "You too, miss. God, it smells in here." "How – what the devil are you doing here?" "I thought I might pay you a visit." Her answer perplexed him. She could see it in the way his jawline tightened. It was a trait they'd both inherited from their father. She watched him take a deep breath to collect himself. "Catherine, could you step outside for a minute and let me change into something more appropriate for conversation?" Rae shook her head. "I wasn't planning to stay long. And besides," she jerked her thumb toward the window. "I've seen enough of you both not to blush at the thought of seeing what you've got under the sheet." Her brother turned completely scarlet. Rae cursed herself for not having brought her paints to capture that image. The blush under that tan was an interesting contrast. Also, she didn't think she could ever make her brother blush that much again in her life. The dark woman sidled closer to Jay as though she was seeking comfort and protection from the strange person in their bedroom. Rae's eyebrows rose when Jay's arm curled protectively over his bedmate. "In all seriousness Catherine, how did you even get here?" "I took a ship." "From London?" "From Egypt." "Egypt?!" "Yes. It's a beautiful place to visit." "What business have you got in Egypt? And where's Ruby?" "Mother? Oh, she's at home." " 'Home' being somewhere on the island? Perhaps a hotel?" "No," she said slowly. "Home being London." Jay ran a hand over his face. Rae felt almost gleeful at the stress and confusion she was causing him. "Catherine, I'll speak to you in the sitting room downstairs. Give me a few minutes." Rae stood, straightening her clothes. "That's all right. You should go back to sleep. I just wanted to say goodbye before I left." "Goodbye? Where are you going?" She shrugged. "Maybe one of the French colonies. I'm not sure yet." "By yourself?!" "I've come this far." "You're a young girl, for god's sake! You can't be traipsing around the world without a chaperone." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, really? I've been doing it for the past six months." His expressions made her direly wish for her paints. "Does Ruby know?" "No, and I don't intend to tell her." "God, Catherine. What if something were to happen to you?" "Nothing has so far." "Don't speak like a child. You know damn well the kind of trouble you can get into." "Rape? Murder? Only if they know I'm a woman." Jay looked down at her attire. A thin sweater and trousers. In truth, she didn't look like much of a woman at all. How was that possible? What had happened to her breasts? "Catherine, would you please just wait for me in the sitting room-." "I have to go now. I just wanted to speak with you before I left since we were on the same island. I'll see you in London come September." "Catherine, it's dangerous -." "I'll send you a letter once a month to assure you I'm still alive." She turned to the woman who was still staring unblinkingly at her. "Are you Anita?" The dark woman nodded woodenly. Rae let out a little laugh, placing her hands on her hips. God, she should have guessed. "Don't let Meera know about this," she indicated their embrace. "She'd be crushed." "Meera? Do you know my sister?" How was she to answer that? Intimately, was on the tip of her tongue. "Yes. We're friends." She turned back to Jay. "I'll see you at home." Jay didn't get the chance to get in another word because Catherine disappeared, blending into the shadows of the night. He let out several curses that made Anita flinch. She was still reeling from the encounter, and the mention of Meera, and her being naked in front of Jay's sister, and having been seen making love pressed against the window... Jay rolled out of bed and pulled on articles on clothing in haste. Anita did the same. She was embarrassed, dreadfully so. "I'm going after her," Jay said, pulling on a sweater. "I have to check on Meera," Anita murmured under her breath. Jay pulled her to him and gave her a fierce kiss, cupping her face in his hands. "I'll be back as soon as I can." She nodded and he jogged out of the room, hoping to catch Catherine before she boarded a ship. The girl needed to understand the danger she was in! Running around the world like it was a game! If something happened to her, Jay would never be able to live with himself. Back in the room, Anita sat on the bed, covering her face with her hands. Her heart beat wildly in her chest and tears rimmed her eyes. She felt panic fill her body. Gods, what was she doing with her life? * Don't forget to vote & comment! Thanks a lot! Much love! By the Bay Ch. 08 I'd like to address a couple of questions/comments that I've received thus far. 1) A reader once commented that the language Anita speaks is not Tamil but Telugu. That isn't true. I think most Indian dialects use the same words to address family members. So 'Amma' can mean mother in many different dialects other than Tamil & 'Akka' can mean older sister in other dialects as well. There are many words that Indian dialects have in common because they all originate from one main language: Sanskrit. 2) A reader also asked me what 'Mama' meant. My bad – I forgot to state in the beginning of chapter seven that 'Mama' means uncle in Tamil. Sorry for the confusion! 3) Also, I've received a couple of hate mails regarding Meera. I'm glad my characters inspire/provoke you guys into feeling something. That's an author's aim, actually. Well, I just have to say that Meera is very unique and I enjoy writing about her. Her supposed selfishness is simply her character trait. Hey, not everyone can be like Anita, yeah? Well, I hope that clears up a few questions! Enjoy this chapter, guys! Xoxo, Lily She was embarrassed, ashamed, regretful. What was she doing? What was she doing? What was she doing? She'd asked that question repeatedly in her mind, but an answer still eluded her. The brief encounter with Catherine had impacted Anita in ways she could not understand. Especially when Catherine had spoken about Meera. It was as if two worlds were colliding – two worlds that should never, ever collide, and she was caught in between, being squashed to death. She could not have Meera learning the truth about her. She simply couldn't. Anita could just imagine what her baby sister would think of her. Whore. Slut. No different than their mother. Meera would be so disappointed in her. She cried softly as she stripped the sheets from the bed, wanting to be rid of the remaining signs of their lovemaking. Yes, the room smelled of their sweat and sex, an aroma she'd thought quite pleasant once. Now it seemed to be choking her, even as her mind battled with her heart against conjuring images of them both in the bed together as she peeled the pillowcases off the pillows. Blowing out the candle in the room, she bundled the cloth in her hands and headed downstairs. The tears didn't cease as she padded across the foyer, dining room and kitchen, intent only on discarding the damning evidence of her stupidity that she held in her hands. Once she'd thrown that into the washing basin they kept in the bathroom, she slid into her room and fell onto the narrow cot. Gods, she hurt. Her heart ached such that it made it difficult for her to take a breath. She sobbed into the pillow, wondering how she'd ended up at this place in her life. She'd sworn she'd never become like her mother, and now, she was little better. Perhaps it was in her blood. How would she able to face Meera if she ever found out? What if the town found out? What if Sami did? She could not live with herself this way, being a man's live-in whore. She gasped and opened her eyes as something stung her wrists, biting painfully into her skin. In the dim moonlight, she could see the glass bangles Jay had bought for her, its broken edges cutting into her skin. Blood dribbled around her wrists and onto the sheets. Swiping tears off her eyes, she pulled the glass away from her skin and laid it on the bedside table. Crimson continued to flow and she tried to stop her bleeding by wrapping the end of her sari around the wound. The pain was like a bite of reality. How could she think of herself that way? If she was being honest with herself, she'd know that she was nothing like a whore to Jay. He never mistreated her, never used her. He always ensured she found pleasure and always delighted in giving it to her. She'd never felt dirty when he touched her. If he'd used her, she'd used him as well. He'd been the best lover a woman could have dreamed of. His physique was utter perfection, his lips the gentlest persuasion, and gods, his tattoos... she shuddered at the image of his naked body under her, every inch of perfection waiting for her to guide him to pleasure. And suddenly, she was afraid. Afraid that she wouldn't be able to let him go. She craved his touch only hours after they'd made love; how would she react when he left her? And she was sure he would leave someday. Finally, after years and years and years of wondering, she felt the pain. The soul-shattering, mind-numbing pain that her mother had felt when Meera's father had left. Anita had always wondered how her mother could give up on life because of a man, but now she understood. She bent over the side of the bed, trying to take in a lungful of air, but found that she couldn't. Her head swam and she fell back on the bed, chest heaving. Her eyes were getting tired from her ceaseless tears, and she decided to close them as well. In her dark daze, she saw Jay, laughing, his green eyes sparkling, reaching for her with his hands. He was haloed by a cloud of gold. She wanted to take his hand and tell him to rip the pain from her body, take her to his bed and give her only pleasure. But as she reached for him, he turned away, retreating from her and taking the light with him. * She awoke because her face felt cool, too cool for that time of year. Her eyes opened slowly, almost as if she was afraid to face what she would see. The first thing that hit her was that she still had all her clothes on. Usually, when she slept with Jay, she'd awaken gloriously naked, but this morning, she was tangled in the folds of her sari. There were various aches and pains in her body, though they were probably because she'd slept half-off the bed. Groaning, she pulled herself fully onto the narrow cot. Dawn's fragile light filtered through the lone window, illuminating the red stains on the white bedsheet. Gasping with the memory, she looked down at her wrists. The wounds were red and angry. Beau hopped onto the bed with her, his eyes bright and tail wagging. His presence in her room definitely solved the mystery of the curious wetness on her face. It was the first time in a long time that she'd awoken unhappy. Usually, her concerns would have been of money or food, and though she was thankful that those concerns were well past her, she would not wish upon anyone the weight in her heart. She did not want to think of anything or anyone this morning. It was too early, and she was too tired. After taking a sponge bath and changing into her maid's dress, she stepped out of the room with Beau at her heels. It was just past seven, but she was wishing for dusk already. She wanted to be alone with her misery, and the last thing she wanted to do was speak to anyone. Woodenly, she began to prepare breakfast. Minutes later, as she stared unblinkingly at a pot of boiling water, Meera walked into the kitchen, books in hand. Anita didn't notice her sister for a long while, steeped in her own thoughts. Meera, too, set her books on the table and stared into space, preoccupied with her own heartache. It was Nanthini who broke the trance that both women had spun around themselves. She stepped into the kitchen singing a popular tune and both sisters started guiltily. "Good morning to you two," the older maid said, walking to the cupboard for the broom and dustpan. The two women made appropriate responses and Anita took the pot of water off the stove. She quickly stirred up some coffee and a plate of flatbread for Meera. Meera murmured her thanks and Anita turned back to pack Meera's lunch. It was not uncommon for them not to say a word at breakfast; Meera was usually moody, and Anita would still be reveling in her experience the night before. Neither of them saw a change in each other that morning. When Meera left, Anita took her sister's seat and laid her head in her hands. She needed to collect herself and summon enough energy to finish her chores. It was weak of her to fall apart like this. Whatever problems she had, she would sort out sometime later. She was here to do a job and she would do it regardless of how miserable she was. Sighing, she rose from the chair and fed Beau, spending a few moments stroking his fur. The dog purred as he ate the flatbread she'd torn into little pieces for him. For the first time that day, she cracked a small smile, Beau's state of perpetual happiness affecting her. Work was foremost in her mind. There was a list of chores she had not done. The rest of the day, she spent ticking each one off her list, trying not to think about when Jay would come home or what she would say to him. But whenever she heard a creak in the old wooden floors, she couldn't help but panic that Jay had returned. She didn't know what she wanted from him. Once, she'd thought that having him as a lover would be enough... and it had been. It still was. But now, more than ever before, the consequences of her actions weighed heavily in her chest. If anyone found out... She put off cleaning his room until mid-afternoon, knowing that if she stepped into it, the memories of last night and the nights before would haunt her. But it was her job, she reminded herself, and she would do it regardless of the demons that awaited her. Holding a change of sheets in her hands, she pushed the door open and went in. The room was as she'd left it – the bed bare, curtains flung aside, cupboard wide open. With a sigh, she got to work quickly, stifling the emotions that rose within her as she smoothed the sheets over the bed. Jay stood in the doorway, watching her stuff a fat pillow into a slim pillowcase. Her actions were efficient, gentle, the grace in her wrists entrancing him. After a day standing in the scorching sun, looking, but not finding his blasted sister, the thought of coming home to Anita was like heaven to him. He crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, watching her go about her tasks. She walked over to the other side of the bed to tuck the sheets into the mattress. When she looked up, he was standing in the doorway, his hair pulled away from his face by a thin band, his emerald eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun, thin strips of tattoos emerging from his sleeve. She stood transfixed for a moment, unsure of what she was supposed to do or say. The look in her eyes warned him that something was wrong. She usually had a ready, beatific smile for him. But now her eyes flickered with uncertainty. He raised his eyebrows and she averted her eyes. "I'll be done soon," she murmured to the bed, hurrying her tasks. Jay pushed away from the doorframe and came forward. His concern was piqued even more when he noticed that her arms tensed as he drew near. "Anita," he called when she didn't look up at him immediately. "Look at me." "Yes?" she turned to face him, her fists clenched at her sides. "What's wrong?" he asked, reaching up to push a strand of hair behind her ears. She froze at the contact, when usually she would rub her cheek against his palm like a kitten. "Nothing," she replied, her eyes looking anywhere but his face. "I have work to do." He grabbed her arm as she tried to walk past him to the cupboard. "Anita, I know something is wrong. What happened? Is it Meera?" "No, Meera's fine. I'm just... tired." He let her hand go. "Oh, well... you should rest, then. I can clean up in here." "No." She didn't mean to say it as quickly and bitingly as she had. A quick glance at him showed how flustered she had made him. Gods, she wished she could explain how she felt to him. She knew he would know what to say to make her feel better, but that would make her life more entangled with his, and she didn't want that. "I... I'm fine, really. I think I just need some rest tonight." And those words, those words spoken in that soft voice, meant volumes to him. She didn't want to share his bed tonight. Perhaps every night from tonight. What had happened after he'd left that had affected her this way? She seemed like a different person, not the woman who'd been so loving the night before. "All right, if that's what you want. But will you tell me what happened? You're not yourself." She turned away to tidy the cupboard. There was a long, terse silence between them as she folded his sweaters and trousers and stacked them neatly in the cupboard. "How can I explain what's happening to me when I don't know who I am anymore?" she said at last, her words barely a whisper. But he heard it. "What's made you question who you are, sweetheart?" Her hands had moved to close the cupboard doors but at his question, she gripped them instead. "You." He nodded even though he didn't understand. "Would you care to explain what it is that I did?" She closed the cupboard door and turned to him, leaning against the hardwood for support. "Before you, I knew exactly what I wanted... But now, I'm not sure... If anyone finds out..." "Has this got anything to do with my sister?" "I... she... she made me think, yes, but they are the consequences of my own actions." He sat on the bed heavily. "Are you regretting our time together?" She didn't say a word; she didn't know what to say. Should she tell him the truth and say that she didn't regret a minute she'd spent with him, or should she tell him what her mind was telling her to say? Propriety would tell her to say yes. But her affection for him would say no. Definitely not. She didn't answer him. Instead, she looked away from his beautiful eyes and walked out of the room. * Jay set the unopened letter on his desk and leaned back against the leather chair in the study. He'd locked himself in the room for hours, not wanting to see anyone. He needed to analyze what had happened between Anita and him that afternoon. Before you, I knew exactly what I wanted... But now, I'm not sure... What had she meant when she'd said that? What did she want now that she hadn't wanted before? He didn't understand it, any of it. One thing he did understand, though, was that he hated the wall that had fallen between them. For months, he'd enjoyed her companionship, and the thought of losing her laughter in his life was painful. It was like she was trying to cut herself off from him. He wanted to hold her and tell her that nothing was going to change, that everything will be the same as it had been between them, but he wasn't so sure she'd listen. There was a steely finality about her that made his heart thump in unnatural ways. He was miserable. He doubted he'd ever felt this way in his life. All he wanted to do was pull the stubborn woman against him and hold her for the rest of the night. But he wouldn't be able to do that until this problem was sorted out, and he would sort it out. He sighed, shaking his head, trying to put Anita away from his mind so he could think about Cathy. Just where the girl had run off to, he wouldn't know. One of the French colonies, she'd said. Jesus, the French colony was huge! He briefly contemplated writing to Ruby to tell her of her daughter's whereabouts, but that felt ridiculously like ratting Cathy out to her mother, so he rejected the idea. Then he thought of sending someone to inquire after her and follow her footsteps to make sure she was all right. But he didn't have a clue as to where she'd gone to, so he definitely couldn't do that. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and that frustrated the devil out of him! Perhaps he should leave Cathy alone, as she'd suggested. Maybe she could handle herself... this was the twentieth century after all. But if he didn't receive a letter from her within a month, he was definitely going after her. Women! The sole cause of problems in his life. He wished he could take them apart and analyze them so he'd understand the way they thought. Why would any young girl travel the world dressed as a boy, he couldn't understand. And why a woman would reject a man when the pleasure they gave each other was unspeakable, he wouldn't understand either. Erasmus was right. Women: can't live with them, can't live without them. * When he entered the kitchen later that night, Anita was at the sink, washing dirty plates. He couldn't help himself from sliding up behind her and twining his arms around her waist. She squealed in surprise and raised her soapy hands, sending suds flying. "Shh. It's just me," he said, feeling her struggle. "Jay, let go. I can't." "Why can't you?" "Jay, please." "If I let you go, would you talk to me?" She tried to pry his fingers off her waist. "I wouldn't know what to say. Jay, please let go." "I will. Soon. Would you answer my questions at least?" She heaved a sigh. "What questions?" "Meet me upstairs." "Jay, no..." "Meet me upstairs." His tone was final. Her shoulders sagged in defeat. He pressed a kiss to her shoulders then he let her go. * She brought a tray of food to his room because she knew he hadn't eaten anything since the afternoon. Her hands trembled under the weight of the tray. When she entered his room and didn't immediately see him, she became anxious. "Here," he called from the balcony, and she hurriedly set the tray down with a clatter. With hesitant steps, she made her way to the far corner of the room. His shirt was untucked, blowing freely in the wind. The iron railing held most of his weight as he leaned against it, looking into the night and into the sea. Anita stood by the door, unsure. "What did you want to talk about?" she asked, watching his profile. He seemed to be in a thoughtful daze. "Everything. What happened between us this afternoon." She hesitated. "Jay, I'm sorry. I don't know what I'm doing." "Well, neither do I." He turned to face her, his eyes holding hers captive. For a moment, she felt like she couldn't breathe. In that one look, he managed to resurface all the memories she had of him, stashed away in a secret compartment of her heart. Dear gods, how could she ever let this man go? "But we're different, Jay," she said weakly. "Surely you understand that. You having taken a mistress would hardly be news anywhere. Men take mistresses all the time. But what about me? If anyone found out, it would leave me completely ruined. Then what would I do when the time comes to get Meera married off? It would be impossible to get her a respectable man." He regarded her for a moment, sorting through her problems. "We're basing everything on the assumption that people are going to find out. What if they don't? What if we're careful?" A small smirk graced her lips. "As careful as you were the other day when you kissed me with Nanthini a few meters away?" He looked away. "It would be easier this way, Jay. Please understand. If it was up to me, then nothing would matter but me and you. But it's not that way. It's not that simple. I have to think of Meera." Jay wanted to shout a curse to the winds, but he held his tongue. For several terse moments, they stared at each other, Anita pleading with her eyes for him to understand her dilemma. When she averted her eyes, he spoke. "Do you regret it?" She wouldn't look at him. He said her name. Her eyes flickered for a moment before she turned away, moving towards the doorway. He called her name again, louder this time. Her steps quickened. He followed her. "Anita, stop." She began to run, and he ran after her, catching her just as she was about to step out of the room. He hauled her against him and she screamed, arms flailing, and they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and clothes. She began to struggle, trying to dislodge him, murmuring that she couldn't be near him. But he ignored her and crushed her lips with his, groaning with desperation at the familiar taste of her. She fought him, curling her hands into fists and beating at his chest, but her struggles became lifeless as she, too, unwittingly gave into the kiss. By the Bay Ch. 08 When he pulled away, they were both panting, but Anita was pliant beneath him. Anguish was reflected in her eyes. "Do you regret it?" he asked again, and this time, she shook her head slowly. "There is nothing that I regret in the time I've spent with you. But please, there cannot be-." A sickening thud echoed in the room, and Anita watched as a looked of surprised pain contorted Jay's features. Within seconds, a trail of blood dribbled from the back of his neck and onto her white dress. Letting out a string of curses, Jay grabbed the back of his head and fell to the mattress, verbalizing his pain. Anita sat up and felt her heart freeze when she saw Meera a few feet in front of them, an iron pot clutched between her hands. Her eyes were murderous as she looked at Jay. When she raised the pot again, Anita's limbs came to life and she threw herself at her sister. "Meera, what are you doing?" she shouted, grappling with Meera to get the pot out of her sister's hands. "I'm giving him what he deserves. Don't stop me!" "No, Meera! Put the pot down. Please. Nothing happened." Meera turned blazing eyes to her sister. "Nothing happened? I saw what he was doing to you! I heard you scream!" "You don't understand." Anita wretched the pot from her sister. "What do I not understand? I think I understand quite enough of what the bastard did to you!" "He was doing nothing, Meera, we were just -." Antia stopped, out of breath, out of words, unable to continue. Jay's groans of pain resounded in the background. "I have to tend to him," she said instead. "No! Don't go near him. I don't think you understand, ka. The man nearly raped you!" Anita's eyes narrowed at Meera's tone. Was Meera talking down to her? Did her younger sister think she wouldn't know about a man's advances? "Meera," Anita said patiently. "We will talk later. I need to tend to Jay's injury." "What is wrong with you? Why would you put yourself in danger – Jay? Did you just call him by his given name?" Anita froze in the middle of tearing a sheet apart. Her head whipped around to her sister, who eyed her warily. There must have been some truth reflected in Anita's eyes. "You haven't," Meera whispered brokenly, shaking her head. "We will speak later," Anita replied with finality. "No! We will speak now!" Anita ignored her sister. Jay needed her attention more urgently than she did. Already Anita could see the pool of blood staining the sheets. With effort, she turned Jay over and winced at the sight of the blood interlacing with his hair. "Jay, are you all right? Can you hear me?" she asked as she dabbed at the blood around the wound. There was a muffled reply from the mattress. "I'll see what I can do. Just hold on." She turned to her sister. "We will speak downstairs. Now hush and wait for me in the kitchen." Anita could tell that it was everything her sister could do not to protest. When she finally turned and stalked away, Anita hurried to the watercloset and wet the cloths to clean Jay's wound. She was already praying that it wasn't deep enough to cause great injury. But with the amount of blood... She spent the better part of an hour trying to stop the flowing blood. When it finally did, though, she saw that there was a long split in his skin, from his nape to the base of his shoulders. She shuddered, unable to think of the pain he was going through. He was conscious as she wrapped the wound and made small, pained noises when her fingers grazed the tender spots. When she was done, he looked pale, but at least now she knew that it wouldn't affect his life. She was very tempted to place a kiss against his damp forehead, but knew that she shouldn't. Instead, she stripped the bloody sheets from the bed and told him to rest. Then she girded her loins as she headed down the stairs. She knew exactly what was waiting for her. * She set the soiled sheets on the counter, waiting for Meera to speak. Her sister was seated at the kitchen table, fingers tapping a rhythm on the hard wood. Anita didn't know what to expect from her sister, but whatever it was, she vowed she would accept it and give Meera nothing but the truth. "Did he bed you?" What had she expected from her sister? Subtlety? Tact? "Yes," Anita said quietly. She waited for the harsh words, the insults, but they did not come. "How long has this been going on?" "A few months. Perhaps ten weeks." "Did he force you?" Anita shook her head, still facing away from her sister. She knew she wouldn't be able to look at Meera without feeling ashamed. "So it was consensual." Anita opened her mouth, but no sound would escape her lips. She cleared her throat and nodded instead. "Why did you not tell me?" Anita's eyes flickered to her sister's, before she looked down at her fingers again. "Because I didn't want you to think the worst of me." When Meera didn't reply, Anita continued. "I'm not like mother, I need you to understand that. I'm not a whore. I just wanted someone to share..." "I know," Meera said softly, staring down at her own hands. "What?" "I know you're not like mother. I've never thought you were." Meera slid off the stool and walked to her sister. "I'm just disappointed that you never told me." Anita said nothing, still waiting for the derogatory words from Meera. "Is he what you want? That man?" Anita looked away. "Ka, we're women now. You can talk to me about these things. You don't have to hide them from me." Anita felt odd that she was discussing her relationship with Jay with her baby sister. But she knew she had to tell Meera something. "I-yes. He's what I want." "Then who am I to stop you? You don't have to hide from me; just speak to me. I'll understand." Anita held her sisters hand. "I thought you were angry. In the room..." "I was shocked, that's all. I thought he was raping you." "He wasn't. We were – that is – we had an argument." Meera wrinkled her nose. "And you were solving it on the bed?" Anita shook her head. "I told him that I couldn't carry on with our relationship because it was too risky." "After two months, you realized that it was risky only today?" Meera asked with a slight laugh. Anita felt the beginnings of a blush heat her cheeks. "No, I've always known it would be. But... last night his sister caught us in bed, and it felt like two worlds were colliding. I couldn't handle it." "His sister? He has a sister?" "Yes, Catherine, I believe. Are you friends with her, by any chance? She mentioned you." Was that a shot of panic in Meera's eyes? Or was it the play of the light? "Oh, um, uh, yes I do. She's a friend." Meera changed the subject before it became uncomfortable. "I'm going to go upstairs now and see if he's all right. I didn't mean to hit him that hard. I thought I was protecting you." Anita noted the quick change of topic, but gave it little importance. "I doubt he'll blame you for misinterpreting the situation. Don't worry." "I'd like to apologize to him either way." "I'll tell him when he wakes up. Now you should go to bed. It is late." Meera shook her head. "I'll sit by him until he wakes up." Sensing that Anita was going to protest, Meera reached out and took her hand. "It's my fault that he's hurt." "What about school? Won't you be too tired?" "The examinations are over, so it doesn't really matter." "All right then," Anita agreed, though half-heartedly. "Why don't you go upstairs while I put these sheets to wash?" "I will." She leaned forward to kiss her sister on the cheek. "Please don't keep anything from me the next time." "Considering that the consequences are quite drastic, I will not." * She couldn't believe it. Had it really been that simple? Had Meera really accepted Anita's relationship with Jay? It was so surreal that it left Anita in a daze for several minutes. She stood in the same spot, staring at seemingly nothing, trying to understand the clashing emotions within her. There was joy, yes, a good amount of joy that her sister had been understanding of her situation. But then again, there was guilt at not having told her sister in the first place. She shouldn't have kept anything from Meera; if she'd discussed the issue with her sister in the beginning, lots of problems could have been avoided, especially with Jay. Jay. After soaking the sheets in the washing basin, Anita went to the garden to snip a handful of herbs to make into a salve. Since it was too late to call for the doctor, she just had to rely on traditional medicine until morning to help reduce Jay's pain. She wished she could turn back the clocks so that Meera would never have hit him. Anita felt it was her fault that Jay had been injured. As she added the citrus juice to the herbs, Anita wondered what her life would be like with the new change. Would Meera try to get along with Jay? Will they be able to have meals together with laughter and gaiety instead of the solemnity of the last time? The idea of all of them together sounded wonderful to her. She hoped it would be possible. * When Meera reached the room, she saw that the bastard was awake. He reached a hand to his bandage and winced with the pain of it. Good. In Meera's opinion, he deserved more than he'd received. She sat on the edge of the bed and watched him. He stared back at her, his eyes unapologetic. It was just as she'd thought. He was like all the other men she knew. Did he think he could corrupt her sister and not pay the price for it? Anita might have trusted this man with her virginity, but Meera knew better than to trust a man with anything. "You ruined her," she stated simply without preamble. "I thought you didn't find her attractive?" "I didn't ruin her. We have an agreement." He spoke haltingly, the pain evident in his voice. Meera shook her head. "You ruined her for any other man and you know it. What would you have her do when you decide to sail away to your perfect English country? Would you have her wait for you to return for the rest of her life? Leave her with three mix-raced bastard children to raise while you marry a proper tea-serving English lady? You may have fooled my sister with your promises but you don't fool me." His skin was pale from the loss of blood, and Meera knew he should rest, but she'd be damned if she didn't tell him that she disapproved of what he'd done to her sister. His lips parted to speak, but his voice was soft. "I didn't make her any promises. She knows I'll leave someday." "And she still agreed to sleep with you? Do I look like I was born yesterday?" "Honestly, yes. What happens between Anita and I is personal and none of your concern. Now, if you would leave..." Meera stood. "I told Anita that I was coming upstairs to apologize. I'll be staying here for the night just to show her that I am genuinely sorry for hurting you and would do anything to help you recover... though we both know that that it isn't the case. I would rather you die and leave my sister alone." He didn't respond, but his eyes showed veiled resignation. She padded to the cushioned chair near the window and sat, her eyes never leaving him. Gods, she hated men. Anita came in a few minutes later, carrying a basin of warm water and a bottle of green salve. Even though he was incapacitated, he had a smile for her, and a reassurance that he was feeling better, even though he probably was not. There was a familiarity between them in the way she touched him, and Meera was quick to pick up on that. There was a secret in their smiles as well, and Meera felt a pang at that realization. She'd thought, just two days ago, that she had that with someone. Apparently, it hadn't been real... Meera folded her legs onto the chair and watched her sister with that man. She didn't like him, but she had to admit that he made her sister happy. Even though the happiness might not last long, it felt good to hear carefree laughter from Anita after a long time. * England Lady Holly waited in quiet anticipation for her best friend's arrival. Her long, thin fingers interlaced with one another as she sat by the window, waiting for the grand phaeton to pull up in front of the countryside manor. Holly had been waiting for days for Elena's visit, and now that her friend was here, Holly could finally obtain a second opinion on the colors and materials of the gowns she would be wearing for her first season in London. She knew little of fashion, mainly because she hadn't a mother to chide her if her gown was out-of-style, but she knew that Elena would be able to help her in that aspect. She had, after all, already attended two seasons in London. When she saw the white phaeton in the distance, she grabbed her skirts and scurried for the foyer. Winston, their butler, opened the massive front door for her, and she ran down the steps as recklessly as a young child. She watched as the phaeton rumbled across the cobblestone path and come to a stop a few feet in front of her. Holly nearly gasped at the ensemble Elena was wearing. She looked beautiful, with her auburn curls falling over one shoulder and her hat tilted at a mischievous angle. The dark blue dress she sported ended at mid-calf and was accentuated only by a thin gold chain around her waist. Holly hoped her own ensemble didn't displease the older girl. "Elena!" she called, coming forward to help her friend down the phaeton. Elena accepted her hand gratefully. "Holly," Elena returned with a smile and an embrace. "How has your week been thus far?" "Oh, just fabulous! Father ordered a selection of cloths and dress designs from a modiste in the city and I've been trying my best to pick out the ones which would look good on me." "That is indeed wonderful. Perhaps I could help you select your dresses?" "Oh, would you? That would be fantastic!" Both women started up the front stairs, engaging in idle chatter. Winston welcomed Elena into the house. "What would you like to drink? Tea? Perhaps some cider? Oh, you must stay for dinner. Father ordered the cooks to prepare your favorite Apple Crumble for dessert. Please tell me you'll stay." Elena smiled at the enthusiastic girl. Holly reminded her of the sister she'd always wished she had. "Of course, Holly. Now, where is your father? I should thank him for his kindness." "He's left for a meeting in the city." "Oh." Holly noted the dip in Elena's spirit. "Oh, don't worry! He's promised to be back for dinner." She grasped Elena's hand and walked towards her bedroom. "I'm sure we'll be occupied with the dresses until then!" * "You have beautiful calves." Elena turned to smile at Holly, still buried in a pile of different squares of cloth. Holly was seated on the bed, looking through several dress designs from Paris. Her hair had come loose from its pins. "Thank you." "Mine are like twigs. They're ugly." "I'm sure they're not, Holly." "They are!" the girl protested, slipping to the edge of the bed. She hiked her dress up. "See?" Yes, the twin stockinged calves did indeed resembled twigs. "Well, thin calves are in fashion this season." "They are?" "Yes, definitely. Here, I think this green would match your eyes." Elena changed the subject and handed the girl a silky green patch of cloth. Seemingly satisfied, Holly took the cloth from her and laid it against the book of designs. "Which design should I pick?" Elena ruffled through more material. "Perhaps the second design on the first page? The one with the brooch?" "Oh, yes! Of course. You're brilliant!" They spent an hour that way, combing through material and designs. Holly's excitement about her first season was contagious and Elena found herself agreeing to be by her side on the very first night. They were selecting the sixth dress when Elena heard the telltale sounds of a carriage coming to a stop in front of the manor. Immediately, the blood began to run thickly in her body. It could only be one person returning home. "What's wrong?" Holly queried when Elena stopped speaking. She was quick to collect herself. "Nothing. I, uh, need to visit the watercloset is all." She stood, brushing off the cloths that clung to her dress. "Would you like me to-." "No, that's all right. I know where it is." She hurried from the room, passed the watercloset, and waited at the top of the stairs to hear his booted footsteps. She knew, beyond a doubt, that he would head directly to his study before anywhere else. True to his nature, she heard him ascend the stairs and hid herself in the alcove between the handrail and the wall. When she saw his frame at the top of the stairs, she pulled him into the darkness. His hands gripped her shoulders almost painfully before he realized it was her. Then his hands dropped away completely. "What are you doing, Elena?" he asked, mildly frustrated. "I was waiting for you. We need to talk, do we not?" He ran a hand through his roguishly long blonde locks. "We have nothing to talk about. I told you the last time that it could not happen again." "Why not? I don't understand. Until you give me a good reason why it can't..." "You are young enough to be my daughter. That is reason enough." She flipped her hair over her shoulder defiantly. "That is not reason enough. We are only seventeen years apart. Lady Chesire married Lord Taulin who was twice her age. The ton accepted it." "She's a thirty-year-old widow. He's a sixty-year-old duke. The ton would have no choice but to accept them. The ton would never accept us." "Well, I don't care what the ton thinks..." "You can't speak that way, Elena. Your actions have consequences; my actions have consequences. Understand that." "I do! I understand it wholly. But I am willing to deal with the consequences." "Well, I am not." He brushed past her and headed for the study. She followed close behind him. "Why? Did our kiss mean nothing to you, sir?" He whirled toward her, fury blazing brightly in his eyes. "I have told you not to mention it ever again. It was a mistake, a moment of weakness!" "A mistake neither of us regrets." "Elena..." "You know I desire you... and I'm convinced you desire me as well." "It is impossible, Elena. What will I tell my daughter? What will I tell your father?" "The truth. That you wish to court me." "It would be a betrayal of trust and friendship. I cannot do that." "You can!" "Elena, listen to me!" He took her by the shoulders, shaking her. Her hair slid across his palm, teasing him with its silky texture. He steeled himself against every feminine wile she could use to conquer his senses. "There is nothing between us. Nothing. Please understand that. I have vowed never to marry again, and that can't be changed. Not for anyone, and certainly not for you. Now, we will both act like mature adults and forget anything ever happened between us. Do you understand me?" Her eyes glowed with unshed tears in the light of the hallway. He had hurt her; he didn't need her tears as evidence of that. When she broke away and ran from him, he let her go because he knew no other way to make her forget him. She would probably hate him now, and a few years into the future, remember him as a fond but bitter fragment of her life. He, on the other hand, would be re-living the few moments he'd shared with her for years to come. * The Island Anita sat in a chair opposite Meera, a cook book open in her lap. She'd found the leather-bound book in one of the bookcases in the guest room, and had always wanted to read it. She'd never had the time however, until now. Jay was sleeping soundly on the bed, his breathing deep and even. She was glad that he wasn't too seriously injured. The doctor had visited them in the morning, and had stated that Jay had a concussion. It might cause nausea, severe bouts of pain and bleeding, but it would mend as time passed. Jay was also young and healthy, so it would take less time for the wound to heal, or so the doctor had said. He'd also prescribed some medication that Anita assured Jay took three times a day. By the Bay Ch. 08 Meera had insisted that she would help take care of Jay. Anita assumed her sister volunteered to do so only because she felt guilty for her actions. And although Anita had forgiven her, she welcomed the company at night when Meera would sit with her as she made sure Jay slept well. She was thumbing through the cook book, looking for an interesting recipe to read about, when she came across the recipe for chocolate cake. Almost immediately, Sami came to mind, and his words haunted her. Nineteen and educated. You better get her married off quickly. She looked up at Meera. Her sister was curled on another chair, scribbling in one of her notebooks. Her unbound hair fell over her shoulder and draped across the arm of the chair. "Meera," Anita called softly so as not to wake Jay. Her sister looked up, eyes slightly unfocused. She blinked several times before responding. "Yes?" Anita put her book down and walked across the room. Meera uncrossed her legs to make room for her sister on the large chair. When Anita sat, Meera put her pencil between the pages of the notebook and turned her body towards her sister. "What is it?" she asked, a slight frown of concern creasing her features at the serious look in Anita's eyes. "What's wrong?" "I just have to speak with you about something important." "Like?" "Your future." Meera nodded. "What about it?" "In a week, you'll be finishing school, and in a few months, you'll be nineteen. I think it's time we started talking about your marriage." "My-." The soured look on Meera's face was almost comical. She froze in shock for the whole of ten seconds before she shook her head vehemently. "No, no, no, no." Anita frowned. "What do you mean, 'no'?" "'No' as in never. Why would you want me to get married?" Anita reached out and touched her sister's hair. What a beautiful color. "Because that's what women do when they turn of age, Meera. There is nothing more I desire than to see you wedded with a dozen children at your feet." Meera paled. "No... I can't." Anita frowned yet again. "Why can't you?" "I don't want to be married." "Well, why not?" Anita asked, clearly shocked. "Because marriage is a way for men to domesticate women and make them their slaves." "Meera, that is absurd!" "That is true. I will never be married to a man." "You say that as though you expect to be married to a woman." "It would be better than marrying a man. Especially if it's a man whom I'll never meet until the wedding." Anita sighed. "Not all men are bad men, ma," she reasoned. "Perhaps. But I assure you that most of them are." "People will speak badly of you if you don't get married." Meera turned reproachful eyes to her sister. "Why do you care what others think, ka? Isn't my happiness more important than that?" "You will be happy once you have a houseful of children. It is every woman's happiness." Meera stood. "Not mine." "Where are you going? We haven't finished this discussion." "I have nothing more to say, ka. I really don't want to be married." Both sisters stared at each other until Meera sighed and turned away. "I'll be in my room." Anita watched her go, feeling something in her heart breaking. The dream of Meera surrounded by a roomful of kids was evaporating, and it crushed her. All her life, Anita had hoped that one day her sister would wed, but now it seemed like it would not happen. She would not give up speaking to Meera about it, however. She didn't want her sister to end up like her. Her gaze slid to Jay, who still slept deeply. In need of comfort, she rose from the chair and slid into the bed beside him. As she curled herself around his body, a hand reached out and pulled her closer to him. He buried his nose in her hair and murmured her name, sending a burst of joy spreading through her heart. * By the Bay Ch. 09 Three days after his injury, Jay felt infinitely better. There was still a throbbing at the back of his head, but the nausea had passed. It was the nausea that had made it impossible for him to stand upright for the past few days, making him feel like a wuss. But he had been cured overnight it seemed, for he was now able to stand without feeling like he was about to topple over and embarrass himself. He knew Anita was at the market because it was a Friday and it was her habit. He had to admit, though, that he'd come to like her coddling. For the past twenty-eight years of his life, he couldn't remember ever being coddled. Even when he'd been injured during the war, he remembered treating his own wounds for there weren't enough doctors to tend to everyone. Yes, coddling was a new experience for him, and one he certainly didn't regret. He hobbled into the bathroom and took a much-needed shower. Then, clothing himself in a pair of trousers and a thin white sweater, he headed downstairs to scour the kitchen for something to feed his growling stomach. He didn't have to look for long, because Anita had breakfast waiting for him on the kitchen table. There was a little note scribbled next to it. I knew you wouldn't listen to me. He grinned. Over the past few days, Anita had reminded him repeatedly not to leave the bed. How she knew that he wouldn't be able to be confined to it for much longer, he didn't know. Pocketing the note, he grabbed the plate of food and headed upstairs. He wanted to continue working on his novel as soon as possible. The past few days in confinement had given him too much time to think about the direction his novel was taking. As he bit into a sandwich and made himself comfortable in his chair, the unopened letter on the table caught his eye. He flipped it over, noting that the handwriting wasn't familiar. Clasping the sandwich between his teeth, he ripped the envelope open and slid the letter out. The address printed at the top told him that the letter was from Roger, his late father's friend. Intrigued, he scanned the letter. Then he frowned. Apparently, there was an unsolved clause between his father and Roger that required Jay's immediate attention. Roger hadn't stated what the clause was about, but from the way he wrote of it, it appeared that he assumed Jay knew about it. Jay was at a loss, for he'd made sure that everything relating to his father had been taken care of before leaving London. What new problem could have arisen now? He didn't want to leave for London. It wasn't in his plans for the immediate future. Everything in his life was too perfect for him to leave, even for a month or so. Perhaps the problem could be solved by post? He pulled out a fresh sheet of paper to pen a reply. He was in the middle of writing the letter when there was a soft knock on the door to the library. He called for the person to enter. Anita entered, carrying a tray with a pitcher of water and a small bowl with his medication. She smiled at him and he, almost immediately, felt his insides rearrange themselves. "Good morning," she said, her voice bright. He returned her smile. "'Morning. What have you been up to today?" "Not much." She set the tray on the table and paused to pour him a glass of water. "Went to the market and conquered the world is all." He laughed and pulled her roughly onto his lap. Surprised at his actions, she squealed, and a splash of water poured onto his sweater. He took the cup from her and set it on the table. Dabbing at the wet spot on his sweater with her dress, she murmured, "You shouldn't be out of bed. The doctor said a week at least." "I'm fine," he insisted, covering her hand where she was touching him. She paused in her ministrations and looked up. "You took off your bandage too." "I had to take a shower." "What if it gets infected?" "It won't." "I'm going to get the cloth." "No," he said, pulling her back to him when she would've slipped away. "Give me a kiss first at least." She averted her eyes shyly before pecking him quickly on the lips. He laughed and covered her lips with his for a longer smooch. "I've missed you," he said when he pulled back. A tiny thread of moisture stretched between their lips and Anita's eyes crossed as she tried to get a glimpse of it. He laughed and flicked his tongue out to catch it. "I've missed you too," she confessed. Then, clearing her throat, she said, "Now, please stop trying to distract me. I'm really quite afraid you'll get an infection." She slid off his lap and headed for the door. "Take your medication. I'll be right back." * He didn't tell her about the letter. It was intentional, really. He didn't want her to worry that he would leave her before he was ready to part with her. It was an additional emotional stress she didn't need since he didn't intend to leave the island anytime soon. Thus, when she slipped out of the room, he quickly stashed the letter and his reply in one of the desk drawers. He ran his fingers over the keys to his typewriter idly, thoughts focused on the object of his desire. The fact that he didn't want to leave her weighed heavily on his mind. He'd never felt the need to be near anyone all the time before. The intensity of it shook him. But instead of scaring him, it made him feel whole. Alive. Powerful. It wouldn't matter if the whole world around him disintegrated, as long as he had her by his side. She slipped back into the study, a basket of supplies in her hand. He watched her silently, a perilous thought entering his mind. Had he fallen in love with her? Out of habit, he shook his head. Love – a much overused concept, in his opinion – was not for him. Love led to marriage, and he'd vowed never to subject himself to such a life sentence. He'd seen how disastrous a marriage could be. It was nothing but a sham, a façade for society's sake. Love and a perfect marriage between a man and a woman was something best left for poet's to write about. Companionship was what lasted. He watched her as she snipped a roll of white cloth from the bundle. Her actions were smooth, efficient. Yes, he could imagine her as his companion. She could make him laugh. She was simple and transparent. She was independent. She was loving. What more could any man ask for? "You'll have to take your sweater off," she murmured, rummaging through the basket for a pin to secure the cloth. He did as he was told, pulling the shirt over his head and laying it on the table. Anita turned with the materials she needed clasped in her hand. She hesitated a second, watching the play of golden skin before her. The marks of ink on his skin seemed to call out to her, tempting her to put everything away and climb onto his lap for a moment of pleasure. How was it that he managed to seduce her without even batting an eyelid? "What?" he questioned, eyeing her hesitance. She gave him a small smile and shook her head. She began to wrap his wound, smearing a little of the anti-infection cream the doctor had given her over it before covering it with cloth. The wound seemed to be healing nicely and there wasn't a sign of pus or infection. She was acutely aware of his skin under her fingertips. It was warm and solid and male. Familiar. She never thought she'd find male skin familiar in all her life. As soon as she pinned the cloth down and stepped back to appreciate her handiwork, she found herself pulled down onto Jay's lap once again. This time, however, she ended up straddling him, with her knees encapsulating his legs. His fingers clasped her nape, pulling her down to him. "What are you doing to me?" he growled against her lips before claiming them completely. He suspected that she didn't know exactly how she affected him. Her eyes, dear lord, her eyes, could disarm him in a second. All she had to do was look at him with innocent desire and he was undone. As he slanted his lips over hers, all he could think about was giving her pleasure and watching as she came apart because of him, for him, with him. Her fingers clutched at his shirt as she tried to steady herself over him. Her head felt light, and her limbs were trembling. His tongue completely tore her inhibitions apart and she grasped him shamelessly, begging for more. His fingers undid the long row of buttons on her dress until he was able to free her breasts. He didn't cease kissing her as his fingers found the hard tip of one breast and circled it. She jerked in his arms, moaning into his mouth, but never letting up on the kiss. Her knees settled on either side of him on the chair and she could feel the old wood creaking as it struggled to hold their combined weight. Then his teeth scraped against her other nipple and everything else save the fireworks in her blood was blocked out. It was raw and hurried. She wouldn't have had it any other way. She fumbled with his trousers as he hiked her skirt up. They panted with exertion as their eager fingers entangled themselves in cloth, hair and zipper. Impatiently, she flipped her hair aside and fumbled with his zipper, freeing him. He grasped her hips and pulled her closer to him. His lips caught hers in an unending kiss yet again as he pushed her petticoats aside and thrust up into her. A string of shudders wracked her frame and her fingers dug into her shoulders as she adjusted to the new position. "Are you all right?" he asked, the strain in his voice evident. She nodded shakily, moving her hips tentatively against his. The movement felt too good to stop, too good not to repeat several times. He reached up and pulled her down for another kiss, moving his hips in a rhythm as old as time itself. For every one of his upward thrusts, she slid downwards, making a crude, slapping noise echo throughout the room. "Jay!" Her entire body seized atop him, but he felt her sheath spasming around his length. The milking movement was too much for him to bear. With a hiss of breath, he came inside her, feeling her jerk as his heat breached her womb. She lay in mind-numbing bliss, draped over him for the longest time. And he was content to let her lay there, still locked to her, his fingers caressing her hair. He smiled when he saw a small, secret smile curl her lips. He kissed her again, and they both winced at the numbness of their lips. "Why are you smiling?" he asked softly, not wanting to break the post-loving haze that surrounded them. She shrugged, her eyes flickering open slightly. Her gaze locked with his. "You make my life so unbelievably perfect." "Making love in a chair is perfection to you?" he teased. But her eyes remained serious. "No," she said, pulling herself up so that she was face-to-face with him. "Just being near you all the time makes me feel whole... perfect." The unanswered question lingered between them. What would she do when he left? Slowly, she disengaged herself from his arms and righted her dress and hair. He watched her as he tucked himself back into his trousers. She was irresistible. Her skin alight from their loving, her hair a tumbled mess, her body lithe. If he'd been a poet, he'd have written scores of poems about her by now. He watched as she gave him a smile and disappeared into the house. Damn! What he wouldn't do to keep her to himself, in bed, for the whole day. * London Holly was disappointed when her father didn't join them for supper. He'd excused himself, citing a mild headache, and retreated to his study. But at least Holly didn't have to have supper by herself. Lady Elena sat by her side, looking as perfect as always. The lady was quiet, picking at her poached quail with little interest. "Is the quail not to your liking?" Holly asked, having already eaten her fill. Elena looked up, blinking. She'd retreated to her own world for a minute. "It's lovely, Holly. You have a wonderful cook." Holly beamed. "Thank you. I'll be sure to tell Cook that. She'll be pleased." A maid refilled their glasses with cider and cleared Holly's plate. Elena continued turning her quail around on her plate. "Holly, would you mind if I asked you a personal question?" "No, not at all." Eagerly, the girl slid to the edge of her seat. "Would you tell me about your mother?" The innocent enthusiasm in Holly's eyes seemed to vanish. She looked down into the cider in her glass for a long while. "I-I'm sorry if I overstepped -." "No, no, nothing like that." Holly braved a smile. "I just never knew my mother. She died when I was born." Elena felt horrid for bringing the subject up for her own selfish reasons. She reached out and covered the girl's hand with hers. "I'm sorry." "It's fine. I don't really feel her loss that keenly. Not like daddy does. Theirs was a love match, or so my nurse told me." "A love match?" Elena repeated in a small voice. "Yes," Holly smiled. "Romantic, isn't it? Meeting a handsome man, falling in love..." "Yes. Yes, it is." At that moment, lightning lit the sky, and in seconds, raindrops pelted the windows. "Oh no! Not now!" Elena rose and ran to the window. Holly followed closely behind her. "The rain would take hours to subside and I brought only the phaeton with me." "You may stay here if you wish. We'll send a note to your father to inform him of the situation." "But I don't have anything to wear..." "I could lend you a nightgown. We'll have a good time..." Elena looked back out at the rain. She could barely see the gravel-lined road. It was hopeless to think she'd be going home tonight. "All right, I'll stay here with you." Holly let out an excited squeal. "Imagine the things we could do! We could style each others' hair, try on different gowns..." Elena smiled as the girl led her back to the dining table for dessert. She wondered how a cynical, brooding old man like Matthew could have a bright daughter like her. * Holly was asleep by midnight, dressed only in her chemise and pantalets after rounds of trying on various gowns. Elena remained awake, her heartache disallowing her to sleep. Instead, she kept herself busy by tidying the room and thinking about what could have been. By two in the morning, she found herself curled on the windowseat with Shakespeare's As You Like It opened in front of her. The rain had long since subsided and only a few raindrops from the ramparts flitted down the window. Absorbed in her own thoughts despite the book in her hands, she started when a dark carriage pulled up in front of the house. Who the devil could be visiting at this late hour? She watched as a cloaked feminine figure stepped out of the carriage and started up the steps. The door was opened from the inside, which meant that whoever the visitor was, she was being expected. Frowning, Elena rose from her seat and set the book back on the shelf. Then, wrapping a robe over her nightgown, she peaked into the hallway. It was sparsely lit, save for the light emanating from the door to the study. The study? Now more panicked than curious, Elena stepped into the hallway and shut the door softly. Her footfalls were masked by the carpeted floor as she scurried across the hallway, afraid of what she would find. She heaved a sigh of relief when there was no sound on the other side of the study's door. Laughing at herself for her active imagination, she turned to return to Holly's room. Perhaps the visitor had been for someone else, like one of the servants. She'd taken merely three steps away from the study when she heard sounds of movement behind the door. Panicked yet again, she ran back to the door and pressed her ear to it. It sounded like a chair or a piece of furniture was being moved. Then, to her horror, she heard a husky feminine laugh. "You were always one to cut right to the chase," she heard the woman say with laughter in her voice. Elena was having a seizure. A heart collapse, if you will. Nothing could feel worse than the pain in her heart at that moment. What was Matthew doing with a woman so late at night? Had he requested that she come visit him? Lord, Elena knew of these kinds of women. Her own father had taken to visiting them a few years after her mother had passed on. They were women who gave their favors away for a few coins. A sultry moan reached her ears and several tears began trickling down her cheeks. No, no, no! She would not let this happen! She would not give up on this man so easily, no matter what he might do to dissuade her. Swiping at her tears, she stiffened her back before swinging the door open. Then she wished she hadn't. She dearly, dearly wished she hadn't. She had only seconds to take in the image of Matthew with his mouth fastened to the other woman's breast before tears clouded her vision and grief engulfed her body. She bent her head and tried to wipe her tears away. "Elena?" She heard him call her name, then let out a singeing curse. He said a few low words to the woman, who quickly righted her clothes and walked out the door. Elena shrank from the woman as she walked past her. "Elena?" he called again, but she didn't know what she should say. What would one say in this situation? "What are you doing here?" Her eyes rose to his, hers turning a vengeful red. "How could you?" It was a hiss, but it conveyed the pain thrumming through her blood. He stepped around the desk. "How could I what?" "That woman... how could you? How could you?" "Elena, I've told you before, you and I are nothing. You have no right to question me about Portia." Portia. She lifted anguished eyes to him. "I would have given you everything. Why would you belittle what we had by cavorting with that woman?" Matthew's eyes narrowed. "I am not going to repeat myself anymore, Elena. There is nothing between us!" "Liar!" she shouted. "Liar! Liar! Liar! You can lie to yourself but don't lie to me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I am not lying. You're young. You do not understand what goes on between a man and a woman." Her eyes pleaded with him. "But I want to. I want to understand everything that goes on between a man and a woman, but only with you." He didn't say anything for a long while. His face was impassive, and she felt anger bubble in the pit of her stomach. She had to know something. Her robe landed on the floor at her feet. She tugged her nightgown over her head and flung it aside. She stood in front of him, naked as the day she was born. She watched as his eyes widened. "Is this what you want?" she asked softly. "A woman's body? Then take mine." He began to shake his head, to deny her, but she cut him off. "I am offering myself to you. Freely. You don't have to pay me." He looked away. "I know you've been trying your damnest to dissuade me from loving you, but it's not possible. Your words in the hall last evening, this woman, they were for my benefit, weren't they? You aren't such a man. I know I wouldn't fall in love with such a man." "Elena -." "No, don't say a word. If age is what you're concerned with, I'll wait. When I'm thirty, it would be acceptable for you to court me, wouldn't it? As a spinster, my father would be delighted to give me away. And Holly – she'll probably be married and a mother by then, unconcerned with what you do with your life. If that's what you want from me, I'll wait." She paused for breath and took several quick steps forward. "But until then, we'll always have this." She stepped forward, rose to her toes and pressed a kiss to his lips. Her bare body molded itself to his and it was all he could do not to take her into his arms and show her how he really felt. The more she'd talked, the more he'd been convinced that she was perfect for him. How had she known? How had she been able to see through the façade that he was trying to build around himself? How did she know that everything had been a lie? By the Bay Ch. 09 When she pulled away and donned her robe, he let her go, the potent taste of her lips still on his. His eyes looked their fill of her body before it was covered, knowing that it was probably the only time he'd be able to see her naked skin. God, she was perfect in every way. Damn society and convention! In his heart, he knew that she would never be able to wait for him until she was thirty, even if she wanted to. The world was too cruel to spinsters, and eventually, she'd succumb to the pressure and marry a suitor that came along. "I'll wait for you," she said, her eyes wide and swimming with tears again. He didn't reply. Instead, he looked away from her until she'd left the room. * The Island Dinner that night was later than usual. Jay had left the house late in the afternoon, and it had taken him a while to return. She didn't ask him where he'd been to, only because if he'd wanted her to know, he would've told her. Meera joined them for dinner, apologizing again for the mishap a few days ago. Anita was pleased to see that her sister was taking to Jay; in truth, she'd been quite afraid about Meera's prejudice against men. Perhaps if Anita could use Jay as an example of a good man, she would be able to get Meera to agree to marriage... Surprisingly, it was Meera and Jay's conversation that dominated dinner. Anita ate her food quietly, barely able to get a word in as Jay and Meera talked about the publishing world. Jay seemed to know a lot about that topic, and Meera was interested to hear anything about it. Anita got lost in the conversation when it came down to the technical terms, but she was happy that her sister and Jay had found something in common to speak about. She was clearing the table after dinner when she heard the commotion outside. It sounded like someone was causing a ruckus. Frowning, she set the dirty dishes in the basin before walking to the front door to inspect the source of the noise. Jay met her at the foyer, having bounded down the stairs after hearing the noise as well. He pushed her behind him and unlocked the door. There was just one man, standing on the street, clearly drunk. He was screaming in a mixture of languages, and from what Jay could fathom, it was something about treachery. "Who is it?" Anita asked from behind him, giving up her futile attempts of tiptoeing to look over Jay's shoulder. "I don't know," Jay whispered back. "Some bloke way into his cups." "Let me see," she said, and wiggled her way to Jay's front. She noted with no little amount of feminine satisfaction, that Jay's arm curled protectively around her waist as she did so. The satisfaction fled, however, when she caught sight of the drunken man in front of the house. "Mama!" she cried, mostly in shock. "Your uncle?" Jay questioned, his voice mirroring shock as well. "I - yes. But – no, it's completely unlike him to drink. What in heaven – Jay, I have to go to him." She tried to dislodge his arm, but he wouldn't let go. "He looks dangerous, sweetheart. And he's drunk. He might hurt you." "No, he won't. Trust me." He read the plea in her eyes and let her go. She ran down the front steps, rushing to the man who'd paused for breath in his litany. "What's happening?" came another voice from behind him. He turned to find Meera questioning him. She took one look at the scene before her and summed it up. "What is Mama doing here?" "Other than being a nuisance, I'm not quite sure." She shot him a withering look before descending the stairs and coming up behind her sister. * "Mama... Mama..." The man had collapsed, still murmuring, sitting up against the fence. When Anita pulled the fence open, he fell flat on the floor, eyes closed. Not knowing what to do, Anita tapped him across the face a few times, but he didn't awaken. Meera padded towards them and looked down at her uncle, frowning. "Meera, go and get a glass of water." As her sister went into the house to do her bidding, Anita tried shaking the man awake again. By the gods, was he drunk. She'd never seen Sami like this before. He was always such a responsible man, so in control of himself... what could have possibly driven him to drink? When Meera returned with the glass of water, Anita splashed a handful of it on his face. When that didn't work, she poured the entire glass of water over his head. He sputtered and awakened, swiping the water from his face. His eyes were red, and it took a while for him to discern where he was. When he did, he turned blazing eyes to Anita. "You!" Anita took a hesitant step back, suddenly afraid of the dangerous glow in her uncle eyes. She pulled Meera away from him, just in case. When Sami tried to stand, Jay descended the steps and put both women behind him. "You!" Sami pointed a finger at Jay's chest, still teetering on unsure footing. "You defiled her. The queen of my heart. You defiled her!" He heard Anita gasp, and he raised his eyebrows at the drunken man. "What are you talking about?" "Everyone knows. Everyone... I thought she was pure, like untouched gold... she was the woman of my dreams and you defiled her!" Anita felt dread creep into her soul. She swallowed thickly. "Mama, what are you talking about?" "Don't talk to me you wretched little..." He trailed off before shaking his head. "Oh lord, she breaks my heart and I can't even find the words to chastise her." "What? Me? You're not making sense, Mama. You're drunk. Do you want me to get you a hackney to go home? It's late. Your wife must be worried." "My wife? My wife? I can't care less about that woman. Why must you do this to me, Anita? Why?" She was about to respond when Jay stopped her. "What exactly did she do?" Sami jabbed him in the chest with a finger, an action that sent Sami teetering backwards on unsure footing. "The whole island knows that she's your keep. Don't play innocent with me." Jay felt Anita's fingernails digging into his arm. He could almost smell her panic. He would not let this happen to her. "And who spread this rumor about her?" Sami laughed, but it was a sad sound. "Rumor? It's no rumor. Which lord would protect his maid the way you put yourself between me and her? I might be drunk, but I'm not stupid." Anita's voice trembled. "Mama, please, don't think the worst..." "How could I not? I love you, Anita." There was a shocked silence, during which Anita tried to sort out everything in her mind. "But you can't! You're married!" was the only thing that left her mouth seconds later. "I don't care." "But we – we're just friends." "That's enough." It was Jay. His voice was hard. She'd never heard him use that voice before. "I think it's time for you to go home." "No! No, I want to know why. Why did you do it, Anita? Why did you give yourself to this man? I would've offered you marriage, a house, children! You would've given me sons. I would've loved you more than anything." "More than your wife?" "Enough! Anita, Meera – wait for me inside. I'll send this man home." "No, I want an answer!" Sami struggled drunkenly against Jay's hold on his shirt. "Go inside, Anita." Anita was pretty sure she was bleeding inside. The confused pain was unbearable. But she obeyed Jay and took Meera into the house. She didn't know what Jay did with Sami, but she waited patiently, saying not a word, until he came home. * Beau laid his head on Anita's lap as she waited for Jay to return. Oh, she was so confused! Why was Sami rambling about loving her? How could he offer marriage to her when he was already married? Unless... She gasped. He wanted her as his second wife? That was preposterous! Anita would never take a man away from his wife and children. It was an unforgivable sin. But what had made Sami think that she wanted him to marry her? What had made him think he was in love with her? Everyone knows. Everyone... She was afraid that what he'd said wasn't simply the ramblings of a drunken man. What if everyone knew about her relationship with Jay? It would ruin her completely. She didn't even want to think of the possibility that... The front door opened, and Jay walked in looking harried and disgruntled. She looked up and their eyes met. Hers were distraught and confused; his were apologetic. Meera sat by the window, watching the tangible connection they shared. There was a silence in the house. None of them could think of something to say. Even Beau felt uncomfortable, for he buried himself deeper in Anita's lap. "I want to believe that what he said was just a drunken man's rambling," Jay said finally. "Me too," Anita replied softly. "But it isn't, is it?" Meera chimed in. "I don't know, Meera," Anita replied, desperation and worry tingeing her voice. "I don't know." "But I might." Twin pairs of feminine eyes looked at him expectantly. "What? What do you know?" Anita prodded, rising to her feet. Beau bounded to the floor and set up housekeeping there. He looked straight at Anita. "I went into town just now to get a letter posted. I had to walk past the market to get there, and I felt people looking at me the whole while. It felt odd, but I didn't give it much importance... then. Now I'm beginning to understand." It was coming. What she'd dreaded. "I think they know, Anita." Anita turned away from him and faced Meera. "Go to bed, Meera. It's getting late." "But-." "Now." Meera desperately wanted to stay, but she didn't want to upset her sister more than she already was. So she dragged her feet back to her room. "Anita, I'm sorry -." "No, don't. It's not your fault." "It is. I propositioned you." "But I accepted it." "Anita -." "I've made my decision and now I have to accept the consequences." She raised stricken eyes to his. He prided her for being strong as he pulled her into an embrace. She clung to him, feeling shaken and unsure. She could just imagine what they were saying about her. Like mother, like daughter. But she wasn't like her mother, she wasn't! She just... wanted Jay. Jay let her scent envelop him. He had to be strong for her. He knew this was her worst nightmare and it was because of him that she had to face such a consequence in her life. He wished he could take everything away and make it better for her. He didn't want her to hurt; just the thought of it made his insides burn. But he didn't know what to do to or say to comfort her. "I just... I don't know how he knew. How did everyone find out?" Her voice was muffled against his sweater. "My best guess would be the other maid." "Nanthini? Do you think she's seen us?" "There's no way to know. I doubt she'll admit it even if we ask her. But the truth is out, sweetheart. What are we going to do?" "Live with it, just like my mother did. It won't be easy – most definitely. But I will-." Her voice cracked, and Jay cursed himself again for putting her in that position. She buried her nose against his solid form, taking comfort in his strong embrace. He was the pillar in her life, for the moment. She'd always been independent, needing no one to tell her how to live her life, but this man had changed her so much, given her so much. She needed him too much to give him up just so that people would stop talking. Her selfish heart wouldn't let her. It hit him only when he heard her sniffle. He could, without a doubt, make everything better. It was in his power to give her a new life – at least until the scandal blew over. He tilted her head up, noting the unshed tears, the confusion, the guilt. And he kissed her, a sweet, long testament of his affection. Then he said, "Come to England with me." * I hope you enjoyed the latest of BTB. Please leave a comment to let me know what you think! I'd really appreciate even the littlest comment/encouragement. Thanks, Lily (: By the Bay Ch. 10 Hey sexies! A big shout out to all of you who've been sticking it through to chapter ten. Thank you so much for your comments and votes; I've appreciated them beyond anything you can imagine. I hope you'll continue to support BTB as it builds up to the all-important climax. (LOL. Don't you just love puns?) Anywho, I just wanted to let ya'll know that the next chapter will probably be a little late in coming because I've a busy few weeks ahead of me. If you'd like an update when I post the next chapter, just drop me an email with your name and I'll add you to my mailing list. Here it is, then. Chapter ten of By the Bay. Enjoy! Muchlove, Lily. * "Come to England with me." She jerked in his arms then pulled away, unshed tears gleaming in her eyes. The disbelief and confusion reflected in them were testament to the emotions swirling within her. "What?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper. He pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She let him handle her like a ragdoll, too stupefied to resist. "I want to take you to England. Leaving the island might not solve your problem, but it might make people forget... just a little." She stared into his eyes, not knowing what to say for the longest time. Her heart longed to say yes to anything he wanted, but her head knew better. If she ran from her problems, it wouldn't alleviate them, but only compound them in the future. She laid her forehead against his chest for comfort. "Jay," she said softly without looking up. "You know I can't." He tilted her chin upwards so he could gauge her emotions. "Why not?" "Because, like you said, running away doesn't solve anything. It would only prove that I'm a coward." She gently pried his fingers from her chin and turned away, giving him her back. Quickly, she swiped her tears away. "Anita..." She took a few moments to calm herself before turning back to him. She attempted a shaky smile. "I'll be fine. I just need some time alone... to put up my defenses." "Anita..." "Really, Jay. Thank you, but no. Goodnight." She dipped her head and left, leaving him staring at her retreating back. As she entered the servant's hallway, she found Meera waiting for her in the doorway to her room. "Did you want something, ma?" Anita asked, hoping it won't be a big chore because she had a lot of thinking to do. "I wanted to know if you're all right. Are you?" Meera asked, concern evident in her voice. Anita managed another shaky smile for her sister. "I'm fine. It's late. You should go to bed." Meera ignored her sister's orders. "I'm sorry that word got out." Anita sighed. "It's not your fault. I should have been more careful." Anita saw a flash of anger in her sister's eyes seconds before it was gone, leaving Anita wondering if she'd even seen it in the first place. Perhaps she was just tired. "We'll get through this, ka. You'll see." Meera gripped her sister's hands tightly and leaned forward to peck Anita on the cheek. When Anita didn't say anything more, Meera walked across the narrow hall to her own room and shut the door. Anita shut her own door and leaned against it, feeling the weight of a thousand burdens bludgeoning her chest. This was it; the end of what little respect she'd built for herself with the townspeople. They'd all known her as the girl who worked hard to put her little sister through school, but now they would only refer to her as that white man's whore. Society was cruel, yes, but she'd been the one who'd made the mistake. She could blame no one but herself. She cried softly to herself, stripping out of her white dress as she did so. She felt like the hungry man who'd gotten caught stealing a bowl of rice – regret for getting caught but not for the sin. If the option were handed to her, she didn't think she would give Jay up for anything in the world. He was the best thing in her life, save Meera. When she couldn't undo the knot on her petticoat because of the tears clouding her eyes, she gave up and curled herself on the cot miserably. Her mind kept reenacting the scene with Sami, replaying the words he'd said, and the pain was so deep that she wanted to scream. She lay in a fetal position for the longest time, torturing herself with words and images, until her eyes became puffy and sore from crying and they willingly sought the solace of sleep. * Jay didn't find such solace. He sat at his desk, fiddling with the keys of his typewriter, wondering at the discomfort plaguing him. He felt withdrawn, moody, and he couldn't understand why. He only knew that it had begun when the bastard had declared his love for Anita. Why did it make him so angry? If he were to analyze his relationship with Anita, he knew he had no right to keep her with him if she desired someone else. Like he'd told Meera, he'd made her no promises and she was free to do as she pleased. But... why was he so upset with the prospect of letting her go? Why didn't he like other men wanting her? He'd previously thought that Anita confused him, but now he came to realize that he confused himself as well. He wished he could examine the feelings brewing inside him, but it seemed impossible to separate individual feelings. They were just a mash-up of frustrations and desires and... something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It confused the hell out of him. Groaning, he ran his hands through his hair, praying for a measure of control on his emotions. But all that action did was muss his long locks and he still found himself having frustrating thoughts. It was one in the morning, and the house was quiet around him. He began to wonder if Anita was asleep. He loved watching her sleep. She looked so peaceful, so free of troubles when she slept. Her hair always had a way of tangling itself around him, and she always tucked herself against his side for warmth during the cool nights. He remembered keeping awake after their lovemaking several times just to watch the play of their skin tones in the candlelight. He was tanned, yes, but he was so pale as compared to her. Her skin was such a beautiful color – like rich coffee or sweet chocolate. When she was near, he wasn't able to keep himself from touching her. There would be no sleep for him tonight. His mind was too active to let him sleep. He wouldn't be able to write either, for he needed a clear mind to continue the novel. He rose from his seat and blew out the lamp on the table. The room plunged into darkness, lit only by the full moon. He stood in the dark for a moment, remembering what he'd been doing during the last full moon. Something in his chest twitched painfully, and he turned away, heading to his room. He changed in the dark, pulling on a light sweater and thin trousers before holding his hair away from his face and securing it with a leather band. He made little noise as he descended the stairs, thinking only about working off the excess energy through exercise so that he'd be able to get a decent night's rest. But at the last minute, as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he detoured to the servant's quarters instead, unable to leave before checking to make sure Anita was all right. There was light under the door to Meera's room, and he wondered what she was doing up so late, but knew better than to knock and ask. Instead, he rapped lightly on Anita's door before pushing it in. She was fast asleep with the sheets drawn tightly over her. The dog she loved so well had curled itself at the foot of the bed and watched him silently. The room was cold; she'd forgotten to shut the windows. Slipping in, he padded the short distance to the windows and pulled them almost fully closed, leaving a crack open for ventilation. When he turned, he saw that her face was almost fully illuminated by the moonlight, giving her an angelic glow. Yet again, something foreign and peculiar twisted inside him. Shaking his head in an attempt to shake off the discomfort, he exited the room and left the house through the back door, swinging himself easily over the locked back gate. He'd broken off at a dead sprint by the time his boots touched sand. * London Elena lay on the bed with the curtains drawn so that no one would be able to see that she was crying. She'd been crying since she'd returned home; the tears of misery simply wouldn't cease. Her mind would be blissfully numb for a little while after the tears, then something Matthew said would drift into her thoughts and she'd burst into another bout of tears. Her eyes were red and her pillow was wet. She wished to god she would be able to prove that she did love him. He might not believe that they could ever be together, but she did. She loved him too much to even think of some other man. She remembered the first time he'd spoken to her – not as his friend's daughter, but as a woman. They'd been at a Countess Wakefield's ball and she'd found him seated by himself in the library, puffing on a cigar and flipping the pages of an old book. He'd taken his jacket off and was clad only in his thin white dress shirt and pants. She'd snuck away from the crowd because the noise had been giving her a headache and had been looking for a place to rest until it was time to leave. He'd looked up when she entered the library and quickly put his cigar away. He really was a true gentleman, but that action at that point in time, meant that she was stuck. She couldn't leave the library without staying for a word or two, for he had caught her before she could slip away to find a quiet spot to be alone. She hadn't really spoken to him before, other than sharing pleasantries... A part of her wished they were still in that position – where he didn't know her and she didn't know the taste of his lips. Life would definitely be much simpler for the both of them. She would've been able to forgo heartache and heartbreak. But no, she had to be foolish enough to fall in love with a man seventeen years her senior. Even her mind told her that he was too old for her, but her heart wouldn't listen. She had fallen in love with his wit, his laugh, his warmth, his touch... She gripped the fabric of the pillow and twisted it into a hard knot, resisting the urge to scream. Love was supposed to be fun, breezy, wondrous. She'd never expected pain; the Romeo and Juliet type of story was fiction. Reality should be easier, or so she'd assumed. She sobbed into her pillow, curling herself into a ball. She would have Matthew, she promised herself, even if she had to wait decades for him. A slight knock on the door had her sitting up in bed, swiping at her tears. She would not be able to explain her tears to anyone, and she especially did not want the maids to speculate the reason for her tears. Quickly, in an effort to appear somewhat presentable, she grabbed the mass of untamed hair and pinned it into a bun, wiping her eyes with the edge of her sleeves. "Come in," she called, her voice hoarse. She cleared her throat immediately. Julie, her maid, stepped into the room and dropped into an easy curtsy. "What is it?" Elena asked, hoping she did not look a wreck. "Milord wishes to see ye in his study, milady," the blonde maid said as she pulled the bed curtains aside and anchored them to the posts. "Did he say why, Julie?" The young maid shook her head. "Are ye all right, milady? Yer cheeks are red and yer eyes are puffy." Elena covered her eyes with her hands, willing away the soreness she felt from rubbing them constantly over the past hour. "I'm fine. I was just taking a nap, is all." "Well, that wouldn't do. Milord has guests. The lady duchess will be dinin' with you this eve." She opened the large closet. "Now, let's get ye into somethin' pretty." Twenty minutes later, properly attired and powdered, Elena entered the study to find her father and the dowager duchess deep in conversation. She knocked on the wooden doors slightly and two sets of eyes shot to her. She dropped into a respectful curtsy before entering the room. "I apologize for my tardiness. I fear I was resting when you called on me." The duchess stood and motioned for Elena to come closer. "That's quite all right, my dear. Your father and I were discussing something of great import." Elena looked at her father when the duchess' hand clasped hers. She prayed her eyes didn't give away the pain still simmering in her heart. She sat in one of the twin leather chairs in front of her father's desk, just as the duchess had bid her to. "What is the matter of great import, father?" she asked, slightly uncomfortable by the way the duchess neglected to release her hand. She tried not to squirm, for the older woman would only consider it a rudeness if Elena showed discomfort in the lady's presence. Roger cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair, fiddling with an old parchment on the table. His eyes were trained on the paper. "'Tis a small matter of your marriage, daughter." Surprised, Elena sat a little straighter in her chair. "Marriage, father? Has another suitor asked for my hand?" "No, Elena. This is another matter. I'd forgotten about it, initially... but the duchess reminded me of it only last week." "What is the matter?" Elena's eyes darted from her father to the duchess, suddenly quite afraid. "Years ago, when you were but a child of four, Edward and I made an agreement. We were good friends, you see, and we wanted our families to be united through more than just friendship." Elena stared blankly at her father, uncomprehending. "James, Edward's oldest son, was away at school when Edward signed the agreement. He wanted his oldest son wed to you, Elena. I had forgotten about our agreement because it was signed more than a decade ago, but Madison reminded me of it just last week. I know I should've told you sooner..." "Marriage?" Elena breathed, turning pale. "To... to..." "James, dear. Edward James Haydes, the Duke of Shackleton, my oldest son," the duchess said, patting Elena's limp hand. "But, no... how? I didn't expect..." "We know it's a shock, dear. In fact, I'm getting used to the idea myself. But it's a nice prospect, isn't it? I'm sure you'll make a very beautiful bride." Elena was already shaking her head. "You should take some time to think about it, dear. Like I said, we know it's sudden. But James would make a wonderful husband; you have to trust me." Elena continued to shake her head, trying to understand what in heavens these people had just told her about. A marriage? To a duke? She was betrothed? But that was impossible! No one had told her... "Why did you not tell me sooner, father? What if I had married one of those suitors who asked for my hand during my first season in London?" Her father looked sheepish. "I suppose I have to thank the Lord that nothing so untoward has happened." "Thank the Lord?" Elena rose, suddenly inexplicably incensed. "Father, this is my life! What if I desire to marry someone else?" "Elena, child, sit down." "I will not! I am not a toy, father. I have feelings. I cannot just marry someone you desire. I am the one who has to live with that man for the rest of my life." "My son is very honorable, dear. Most women will trip over themselves to be married to him." The duchess' voice held just a tinge of pride and rebuke at Elena's tone. Elena prayed for patience. "I mean no insult to your son, your grace." Roger turned to Madison. "Perhaps my daughter and I should converse in privacy." Elena's eyes spit contempt in his direction. "Perhaps we should." Madison stood. "I will be in the parlor, then." Roger, too, stood as she took her leave. The doors to the library closed behind the duchess and Elena spat, "You certainly do not expect me to marry a man I hardly know, do you?" "He is a duke, child. For that reason alone, you should want to marry him even if has one leg and no arms." Elena crossed her arms over her chest. "What if I do not want to?" Roger sighed, running a hand through his thinning hair. He tossed the parchment at her. "Perhaps this will persuade you." Elena picked the piece of paper up and glanced at it. Her eyes widened. "40,000 crowns? You sold me for 40,000 crowns?" "Quit being dramatic, girl. I did not sell you. It is a marriage settlement." She threw the parchment onto the table with a flick of her wrists. "No, father. I will not marry this man." Roger raised an irritated brow. "And why not?" "Because I am simply not interested," she lied. He seated himself with a weary sigh, running his hands over his face. "Elena, please. You do not understand our situation." She raised a caustic eyebrow. "And what situation is that, father?" "We... our funds are depleting, girl. Do you understand? I have my life set on this marriage. Without it, we would have nothing and our pride and family name would be ruined." But Elena was stubborn. "I cannot father. I cannot live with the fact that my father sold me to an unknown man for 40, 000 crowns!" "For God's sake, girl! I'm not selling you. Marriage settlements are part of our tradition." "One that should have been left behind in the last century." A painful silence followed her words, and Roger desperately thought of reasons that would make his daughter consent to the marriage. Not that he needed her consent, but it would make the situation easier if he had his daughter's cooperation. He made his voice as hoarse as he could. "Elena, without this marriage, I would be a pauper. Our family name would be dragged through the mud." Elena found no pity in her soul. "And you think I should give up my freedom just so you could fortify your coffers? I don't think so. Please convey my apologies to the duchess, but I am completely not interested in this marriage." She turned and made for the door, but her father's next words stopped her. "If this marriage does not happen, child, I would have no reason to live." Elena froze, noting the veiled threat in that sentence. She turned, her eyes narrowing. "I refuse to be victim to your blackmailing, father." "'Tisn't blackmail, girl. This really is our last hope. Without it, I have no reason to live." She was spitting mad. Without saying a word, Elena turned from her father and exited the library, knowing she was stuck in a perilous situation. Weren't there enough problems in her life already? Back in the library, Roger sighed again as Madison slipped into the room. "Did she agree?" she asked without preamble. "She didn't at first, but I think I've made her re-think the marriage." Her smile was beatific. "Fantastic. What did you do to persuade her?" "I told her that I would kill myself if she did not agree," he said bluntly. "Roger!" Madison exclaimed, shocked. "The girl was stubborn, Madison. I'm sick of her rejecting perfectly good potential husbands. Your son would be a perfect groom for her. She shouldn't be so picky." Madison agreed silently, though she did not agree with the means Roger had used to make Elena consider marriage. "How long do you think she'll take to decide?" "Not long, I suppose. I will inform you immediately when she does." He glanced at the clock on his desk. "My, it's six already. Would you care for some dinner, Madison?" "Yes, definitely," she replied, rising. "By the by, have you heard from James yet?" He stepped around his desk and offered her his arm. She took it, placing her hand gently on his sleeve. "No, not yet, but I'm expecting a letter only some time next week. But then again, the boy just might pack up and return to England to attend to matters as I'd requested in the letter." By the Bay Ch. 10 Madison laughed as they exited the library. "Trust me, Roger. I know my son. When he left, he didn't want to return to England any time soon. He won't return for trivialities. He'll probably try to solve the matter by post." Roger smiled. "We'll see, Madison. We'll see." * The Island She could feel their eyes on her. It was inevitable that they would stare, but she hadn't thought they would do it so blatantly. They were whispering, too, and none too softly. Their words were like little knife jabs on her skin, and she pulled her sari tightly over her body and walked quickly along the rows of stalls. She would get through this, she told herself. She was strong; she wasn't a coward. No matter what they said, she would face it and accept it, for she'd brought it upon herself. She didn't look at anyone. Didn't stop, didn't talk. She selected the vegetables as quickly as she could, afraid to linger long enough to provoke anyone into speaking directly with her. She could stand the whispers, but she didn't think she'd be able to handle any direct insults. It was the end of April, and at the end of each month, she would replenish her stock of special tea from the old lady at the market. Now, however, since everyone knew about her relationship with Jay, they would know that she wasn't buying any of the flowers that were strewn about the old woman's stall, but the contraceptive tea. She had no choice, however. She'd used the last of the leaves today, and if she didn't continue the tea regularly, it might make her prone to conception. That was unacceptable. She inched her way to the old woman's flower stall, feeling their gazes like fire on her back. Gathering courage, she glanced up and was grateful to note that the old lady had the tea leaves already bundled in a bag. As she handed the payment over, she caught the woman's gaze. Pity. The old lady pitied her. She turned back and walked away from the market, feeling emotionally raped. They were judging her – had judged her. But did she regret her sin? Not quite. Dear gods, what kind of a woman had she turned into? A tear spilled onto her cheek, but she did not notice for her skin was heated with shame. * Meera watched her sister as she walked around the market like a woman destined for the guillotine. She could see the shame weighing on Anita's shoulders, and she almost wanted to scream at the people who spoke in whispers behind her back. She would bet all she had that Anita could hear exactly what they were whispering about. Bastards! Every last one of them. How could they not know how their words were hurting her sister? They were women too – most of them. Did they not know how the female heart and mind worked? Were these people too stupid to consider someone else's feelings? How was it that they never put themselves in other people's shoes? She hated them. They'd never done anything good for her. They'd ostracized her mother, and now it was happening to her sister. She'll be damned if she'd let it happen all over again. All her life, Anita had taken care of her. Now it was time for Meera to give back. * She reached the house a few minutes after her Anita did, and she found her sister in the kitchen, laying out the vegetables she'd bought. Anita didn't look up as Meera entered the room. Instead, she asked, "Are you hungry?" in a voice that conveyed the pain swirling inside her. Meera understood perfectly the kind of shame her sister felt. She wanted nothing more than to put her arms around Anita and stroke the pain away. So she did. Anita didn't question her. She simply returned her hug, laying her head on Meera's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Meera volunteered in an effort to console her sister. "It's not your fault," Anita murmured against her shoulder, breathing heavily to fight back tears. "It's not right, the way they speak about you." Anita raised her head to look at her sister peculiarly. Then one tear slipped from the corner of her eyes. One more. Then another. And she found herself bawling against her sister's shoulder. Meera's heart hurt to watch her sister cry. She'd seen Anita cry only once before, and that had been after their mother had died. No other hardship had made her sister cry – at least, not that she knew of – until today. She held Anita in a tight hug as her sister cried her misery. She raised a hand to stroke her sister's hair soothingly. "Everything will be OK, 'ka. You'll see. They'll forget in time." Anita found it difficult to breathe between sobs. "But until then, they'll speak so badly about me. One of them even asked... how much he paid me for a night!" Meera's hold on her sister tightened. God, she hated this place, the people. How could they do this to her sister? Miserable wretches. "They're simply excited that they have something new to talk about. Don't take them seriously." Anita remained silent, tears still streaming from the corner of her eyes. "You should sit down," Meera said gently, but Anita refused with a shake of her head. "Meera... I think I'm a horrid person. I don't regret what I did." She flicked wet lashes upwards to gauge her sister's reaction. Meera smiled. "I'm not judging you, 'ka. Really. Everyone deserves the right to live for themselves at least once in their lives. This is your opportunity, and I won't judge you for it." Anita raised the end of her sari to wipe her tears away. Meera took her hand and led her to the kitchen chair. "Sit," she said, and made Anita sit even though she protested. "Now, I'll make you breakfast. No," she added quickly. "Don't protest. You just rest for a while and I'll make something for you to eat. Please? It would make me happy." She knew Anita wanted to protest, but that last line made her acquiesce grudgingly. She looked completely miserable, and Meera hoped she could cheer her sister up a little. Perhaps they could find a way to deal with the problem... Though nothing short of a miracle would help solve it. * "Yes, now tuck the end of the sheet under the mattress. No, not like that," Anita said, gesturing. "You have to lift the mattress and quickly slip the linen in." It was almost comical, Anita thought. Meera doing housework. She'd raised the girl to be an intellectual, not a housemaid. Had Meera not stubbornly wanted to help Anita today, Anita would never have had the enjoyment of watching Meera struggle with chores. It was fun, though. Anita crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wardrobe in the guest room, watching Meera struggle with the heavy mattress. She'd already been forbidden to help her younger sister. "Are you sure you don't need help?" Meera nodded, concentrating intently on her task. Anita shrugged, content just to watch. When Meera finally managed to slip the sheet under the mattress, Anita burst into a bubble of laughter, for the sheet on the other end of the bed slipped from beneath the mattress. Meera smiled sheepishly, giving up and conceding that perhaps housework wasn't her forte. She was glad that her sister was finally laughing, even though the lines of worry were still evident on her face and she still sniffled every now and again. In less than half the time Meera had taken, Anita tidied the bed and dusted the room. Meera got to her knees and browsed the selection of books on the small shelf next to the bed. "'Ka?" Meera queried hesitantly a few minutes later, still kneeling in front of the bookshelf. Anita looked up from dusting the lacy green curtains. "Yes?" "If I tell you something, would you think about it?" Meera said, still staring at the line of books. When Anita didn't reply immediately, Meera turned to gauge her sister's reaction. Anita frowned. "Well, that depends, I suppose. What matter are we discussing?" Meera sighed and leaned forward to perch her hands on the bed. "I was thinking that you should go to England... with him." Anita tilted her head to assess her sister. Of all the absurd things to say... "Why? You know it would only compound my problems." Meera tucked a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Well, what if it doesn't? Think about it. You have no one here that will miss you. So what if they talk about you? You're not going to come back." Anita blinked, struggling to comprehend what her sister had just said. "What? Why wouldn't I come back? This is home." Meera's brows furrowed with irritation. "No one here even cares enough about you to spare your feelings, 'ka. How could you call this home?" "I was born here, ma. This is the only place I know." "It doesn't have to be." Meera stood, walking towards her sister. "What if there are better places in the world? Better opportunities, better people, better everything? Would you simply be content to be stuck on this island when there's so much to see in the world?" "Um..." "There are so many places, 'ka. England, the Americas... Egypt! I'm sure he'll take you to Egypt if you ask him to." "Egypt? Where is that?" Anita said, reeling slightly from the spark in Meera's eyes. "It's across the Indian Ocean. I've heard it's a very exciting place." Anita raised a hand to her temples. "So are you suggesting that I leave my home and travel to places I've never been to before?" "Yes!" "But why would I do that?" "Because it would help you forget... things. What if you find that you like living elsewhere in the world? You can avoid the problem entirely." Anita rubbed at the pounding in her temples. "But I don't want to avoid it. It's cowardice." Meera cupped her sister's cheeks in two hands and leaned in close. "'Ka, listen to me. It is not fair, the way those people judge you. You don't deserve it and I'm sure you'll find something better across the sea. I'm trying to think of what's best for you. Home will still be here if or when you return to the island." Before Anita could open her mouth, Meera spoke again. "Don't say anything. Just think about it." Confident that her sister would think about her suggestion, Meera snagged the black feather duster that dangled from Anita's lax fingertips and continued dusting the curtains. * Anita treaded hesitantly into Jay's room. He was asleep, but the door had been slightly ajar, and she'd been hard pressed to leave after catching sight of his naked, golden back. Once inside the room, she pushed the door closed as quietly as possible so she wouldn't wake him. She was still reeling from Meera's words earlier that morning. Leaving home... the idea scared her. She couldn't even possibly be thinking about it, but the fact was that she was actually considering her sister's suggestion. Going to England, the place where Jay had been born and grown up – it had a certain attraction to it. He'd told her very little of his background, and what she knew of him, she'd deduced herself from her time with him. She felt the inexplicable yearning to be closer to him, to know more about him, even though she knew it would only hurt her more at the end. She sighed. She wasn't in the right frame of mind to be making such big decisions. The pain of the morning still weighed heavily in her heart and it would influence any decision she made at the moment. She contented herself by staring at the sunlight playing across his back. Gods, he was so beautiful, almost unbearably so. She couldn't imagine why he would ever take an interest in her. But I have him now, she thought possessively. If only for the moment. She stepped forward and knelt on the bed, leaning down to press a kiss to his shoulder. Subconsciously, she noted that his injury was healing nicely. She'd just pressed her mouth to his skin when he jerked under her and came awake almost immediately. "Um, good morning," she said almost guiltily. He turned to face her, rubbing his palms over his face. There were faint circles under his eyes but he managed a smile for her. "'Morning." "Didn't you sleep well? There are circles under your eyes." He shrugged. "Couldn't sleep." He sat up and leaned back against the wooden headboard. He looked delicious this morning, with his hair tousled and eyes cloudy. When he patted his lap, she slid between them and laid her back against his front. His arms encapsulated her waist and he laid his chin on top of her head. She sighed with contentment. "Anita..." "Mm?" she hummed, playing with his fingers and marveling at how large his hands were as compared to hers. She laid their palms flat against each other and estimated that his fingers were at least an inch longer than hers. "How are you?" She knew what he was asking about. She tilted her head to look up at him and smiled. "I'm fine, really. Meera said something to me today that changed my perspective of the situation." He felt her entwine her fingers with his. "What did she tell you?" "She told me that I don't deserve to be judged by people who don't care for me. It's true, isn't it? I let what everyone says affect me too much. All this time, I cared about what other people would think of me and Meera, when really, why does it matter so much?" He chuckled lightly. "It doesn't." "Exactly. I should do things that make me happy. Why should I care about them?" "There are many reasons why you should care – trust me, I know. But you don't want to care about the fact that you should care. True?" She sighed. "Yes, very. Meera has already said no to marriage, so what's there for me to lose?" "You're very right, sweetheart." They sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of nature outside the window. She was content to simply lean into him and share the silence with him. As was he. "Jay," she said after a long while. "Yes?" "Were you serious when you said you'd like to take me to England?" He adjusted her on his lap so that he could see her expression. Her eyes met his, and he could see the hesitance in them. He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Yes, I was." A thought occurred to him. "Why? Are you reconsidering my offer?" A small smile played on her lips. "Perhaps." He tilted her chin up and she saw that his eyes were alight with genuine joy. "I'm only thinking -." But before she could finish the sentence, he covered her lips with his. It was shameless and open-mouthed, and she gave as good as got. They ended up sprawled on the bed, with her under him, her hands tangled in his hair. It still awed her that he could incite desire in her so quickly. All he had to do was take his shirt off and she became a malleable piece of clay in his hands. When he tore his mouth from her, she smiled and said, "I only said I was thinking, Jay." He smiled cheekily. "It's enough." Then he kissed her again... in many different places. * When she returned to the kitchen half an hour later, her thighs were weak and her cheeks were glowing. She found Meera seated at the kitchen table, the various types of vegetables neatly chopped and stacked in front of her, just as Anita had asked her to do before she'd entered Jay's room. Her sister was chewing at the end of a pencil while reading something she'd written in her notebook. Meera looked up when Anita entered the kitchen. "What took you so long?" Anita felt the heat rising to her cheeks. Meera looked more closely at her sister, noticed the glow emanating from her dark skin and wrinkled her nose. "On second thought, I do not want to know the answer to that question." Anita's laugh held a tinge of embarrassment. "Come, we have to start with lunch." Meera set her book aside and watched as Anita heated oil in a pan and set another pot half-filled with water to boil. "What are we making?" she asked. "Chicken soup with long beans and spinach on the side." "That sounds so good." "A step up from porridge, huh?" Anita commented with a small smile. "Several." They worked side by side, with Meera following Anita's instruction closely. Meera had never realized that so many spices and ingredients went into cooking soup. She'd only watched Anita cook porridge before, but that had been an easy task. Soup, however, was like a complex math sum. Missing one step could ruin the end result. The vegetables couldn't be overcooked, the chicken couldn't be undercooked. How her sister had the patience to do this everyday, Meera wouldn't know. Meera was busy manipulating the wooden spoon around the pot, trying to stir the soup without breaking the chicken bits apart, when Jay bounded down the stairs, looking refreshed and very much alive. "Your man is here," Meera said to Anita in Tamil. Anita turned from the act of measuring water to add to the uncooked rice. He entered the kitchen. "Good morning," he said to them. "I'm sure it was for you," Meera muttered beneath her breath. Anita slapped her arm, warning her sister with her eyes to keep her barbs to herself. "What would you like to eat?" Anita asked him as he reached for the bowl of fruit on the table. "If you could wait an hour, lunch will be ready." He grabbed an apple from the bowl. "I'll wait. In fact, I think I'll be going out for a bit. I should be back in a couple of hours, though." He rubbed the side of the apple against his shirt. "I'll keep the food warm." She didn't know how he moved so quickly. One second, he was standing near the table, and the next, he had pressed his lips to hers. Shocked, she pushed him away. "Jay!" she admonished, sneaking an embarrassed glance at Meera. "What?" he shrugged, perplexed. "She already knows!" "That doesn't mean you can..." "I'm not listening to your conversation, nor am I watching the both of you," Meera said, intently stirring the contents of the pot. "I am slowly becoming one with the soup." "See?" Jay said, snatching another kiss before moving away. He took a bite out of the apple. "I'll see you in a couple of hours." * He needed new clothes. That's why he went into town. He'd torn one of his trousers last night whilst exercising, and though he could've asked Anita to mend it for him, he knew that it was about time he put that particular pair of trousers to rest. He'd only brought four pairs of trousers and shirts with him to the island, and he finally admitted to himself that he needed to buy more, or else every article of clothing he owned would be threadbare and frayed. He walked past a couple of men's tailor shops in the town, noting the whispers that floated around him before effectively dismissing them. He could feel people staring at him as well, and he knew they were judging him. That didn't affect him, though. He'd been judged too many times before. He finally came to a stop in front of a Malay tailor shop, liking the design of a shirt in the display window. It was a western-style shirt with Arabic design, and it appealed to Jay because it was unique. He stepped into the shop, prepared to spend some coins. He stepped out of the shop ten minutes later, three shirts and trousers tucked in bags. The shopkeeper, a stout Malay man with a ready smile, waved goodbye as Jay walked away, satisfied with his purchases. He roamed the town, looking through windows to see if there was anything interesting for him to explore. There were barber shops, ladies' textile shops and food places aplenty, but none of them were unique. He didn't feel the pull of any of the shops... until he came to a place that was crammed between a bookshop and a flower shop. The little place advertised piercings. Piercings. Interesting. He stepped into the shady shop, blinking to adjust his eyes to the darkness. A small Indian man was seated behind the counter, but he stood as Jay entered. Jay noticed that the man was wearing his traditional attire – a button-down shirt and the veshti. The veshti is a long, unstitched cloth that was tied around a man's waist and ended past the ankles. By the Bay Ch. 10 "Hello, sir. What can I do for you?" the man asked excitedly in heavily accented English. From his accent, Jay was able to deduce that the man had migrated to the island only recently, for his accent was thick. Second or third generation immigrants had already integrated into the population and spoke with only a slight accent, like Anita. Jay looked around the room. It was filled with drawings of the different kind of traditional piercings and piercing-ceremonies that the man performed. In the Indian culture, the more piercings a woman had on her ear, the more beautiful she was. Women also often tended to get their noses pierced after marriage, as a symbol of their womanhood. He briefly wondered why Anita had stopped with only one piercing on each ear. He put his bags on the floor and looked around, committing the interesting pictures to memory. However, none of them were pictures of men. Piercings for men were absolutely unconventional back home; he'd seen a handful of black men working at the docks with a gold loop dangling from their ears, but that was it. Piercing any part of the body was an uncommon practice at home, but he wasn't home now, was he? He turned back to the eager little man and said, "I'd like to have my ear pierced, please." * She was washing the dishes when she saw him stepping through the back gate. Smiling, she rinsed her hands in the clean water and moved to open the back door for him. As he walked across the lawn, she noticed that his hands were laden with bags, and she wondered what he'd bought. But as he came closer, she noticed that there was something odd about him. She tilted her head to assess him as he stepped in front of her. Then she froze, noticing the thin gold hoop. For several unblinking seconds, she stared. "Aren't you going to say something?" She turned wide eyes to meet his. "You pierced your ear." His mouth turned up at a corners. "Well, I was hoping for something more insightful." A smile flirted with her lips as well. "I like it." "I was hoping you would." She reached out and traced his jawline with her index finger. There was a tingling sensation curling low in her abdomen. The earring made him look so... dashing. Like a pirate. She'd never thought she'd like to be ravished by a pirate, but at that moment, she wouldn't have minded. "So handsome," she murmured, her eyes clouding with desire. The bags fell to the floor as he caught her to him. But she was the one who buried her fingers in his hair and drew his lips to hers. She found that she was really affected by that earring. It made him look so wild and exciting that it made her feel such unbearable desire. "Oh my god!" Anita pulled away from him guiltily when she heard her sister's shocked words. Meera stood a few feet away from them with a hand pressed to her heart. "Do you two constantly need to do this? You just shocked all the godly things out of me." "Sorry," Anita muttered, capturing Jay's hands so that he wouldn't continue touching her and make her squirm in front of Meera. Meera rolled her eyes and walked away. Anita breathed a sigh of relief. Then she caught Jay's eyes and they shared a laugh. They should really stop being intimate in places where they could get caught. He picked up the bags and they went into the house. She asked him if he wanted lunch now, but he shook his head and laid the bags on the kitchen table. Then he dug into one of the bags. "What are you looking for?" she asked. "I bought something for you." Before she could ask what he'd bought, he'd dug out two different sets of saris. One was red, the other a deep violet. He handed it to her. "I went into the shop and asked for saris that a woman wears at home, and this is what the saleslady handed to me. I hope you like it." She stared at the bundles in his hands, then back up at him. "You didn't have to," she murmured, wondering if a person could die from imbibing too much happiness. He smiled. "I know, but I wanted to." He put the saris in her hands and went digging for more. He pulled out two more; blue and pink. "These are for Meera." They were simple cotton saris, but they made Anita's eyes swim with tears. She really wasn't used to receiving gifts. "I... don't know what to say," she uttered finally. His eyes twinkled. "I'm not done yet." Then he pulled out a rectangular box, and Anita knew immediately what was in there. She'd seen it numerous times, but only the rich or middle-class people were able to afford such saris. She couldn't believe he'd spend so much money on her. He took the cotton saris from her and placed the box in her hands. "Open it," he urged. She lifted the lid and stared. It was a beautiful orange silk sari with a white border and gold trimmings. She hadn't seen anything so grand in her entire life... and it belonged to her. Her fingers played over the designs, feeling the softness of the silk and noticing the intricacy of the design. When she looked up, he was staring at her, waiting for her reaction. She smiled sheepishly at him. "I'm not very good at receiving gifts, I think. I really don't know what to say. But it's beautiful. I've never had anything like it before." He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering around the curve of her soft flesh. "That's enough. I love buying you gifts. It's a kind of pleasure for me." She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest, clasping the sari to herself. What would she do without this man? Her heart felt like it had swelled to twice its size whenever he was near. He was such a sweet man. She doubted she'd ever be able to think of any other man after him. Jay was content – a feeling he wasn't quite used to. He felt grounded and secure, when all his life he'd felt an itch for more. He knew that the woman in his arms was a big reason for this new feeling. He smiled, holding her close to him. He hoped she'd say yes to coming to England with him. There was nothing more he'd like than to show her the place he'd called home for the longest time. * Tonkin, the French colonies It was dawn, but she was not yet asleep. She secretly doubted she'd ever sleep again, and even if she did, she would only dream of blonde ringlets and musty skin. For several weeks, she'd told herself that she needed to put the past behind and look forward to the future. She'd tried to enjoy herself in the foreign land, meet new women, immerse herself in a new culture. But she found that she could not seem to cease comparing everything new to something she'd seen or experienced on that fateful island. The only logical conclusion she could deduce was that she'd spent too much time in Singapore – or Sincapour, as the French referred to it. She ran a hand through her silky auburn locks as she curled herself into a chair, staring out of the little window in her hotel room. The sun was rising. The orange streaks raced across the sky and penetrated her quaint room, landing on the figure between the bedsheets. A shudder of self-loathing swept through her and she ran her palms over her face, trying to erase the memory of last night and the many nights before, even though she knew that she had no right to feel guilty. She had not committed herself to anyone, even if her heart told her different. In the long run, this would be best. She sighed, watching nature mock her as the rays of the sun illuminated the brass coins lying on the bedside table. But she knew it wasn't the first time she'd paid for sex, and it wouldn't be the last. A bath was what she needed, she thought, rising from the chair. Something to purge her of memories – those that were not water resistant. She needed to get the smell of hair oil and rouge off her body before she choked on them, for they only compounded the riot of emotions within her. A while later, when she returned from her bath, she wasn't surprised to find that the figure on the bed was gone, and so were her five brass coins. She sat on the edge of the bed, feeling cold water drip steadily from her wet hair and down over her back. The room around her felt empty. Sad. But that was probably a manifestation of her emotions. She reached for the strip of paper on the bedside table. She'd received the telegram from her friend Pierre about a week ago, after she'd wired him that she was currently in Tonkin. But she'd yet to respond to his request. She ran her fingers over the words. Gallery showing. Paris, June. Need you here. Collection not big enough. She knew what he was asking of her, but she did not know if she could do it. It was a risk bigger than she'd ever taken. If the showing was in Paris, it was likely that her mother would hear of it or read of it in the papers. Pierre's father was a prominent man in the French government, and any news of his son would be reported in the papers. She really didn't want her mother to find out about her wanderlust and begin to worry. With a groan, Rae fell back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. She needed to think; she needed to clear her head. But there were just too many things to think about. She put the slip of paper into her pocket. Later, she thought. Later. * The Island It was the middle of the night when Anita carefully pulled herself out of Jay and Beau's clutches to get a glass of water to drink. As she rummaged through the kitchen, she noticed the faint glow of lamplight under Meera's door. Frowning, she took a sip of water to ease her parched throat then walked through the narrow hallway of the servant's quarters. She stopped in front of her sister's room and knocked softly on the door. "Meera?" There was a muffled reply from the other side of the wooden door. Anita turned the handle and poked her head through. Meera was seated at the little writing desk, scribbling away in one of her notebooks. Anita's frown grew deeper. "Meera, why aren't you in bed? It's the middle of the night." "I'm not sleepy" was the reply. Anita stepped into the room and went to her sister. But she knew better than to peek at whatever Meera was writing. "You should try to sleep, ma. Sleeping so late is bad for your body." "I need to finish this. You can go to sleep." Anita sighed, noting her sister's intense concentration. She took her writing very seriously. Anita relented, running a comforting hand through her sister's hair. "Do you want anything to eat or drink? I could make some tea if you'd like." "I'm fine, 'ka. Thanks." Anita retreated to the doorway, hovering, not wanting to leave her sister while she was staying up so late. A thought occurred to her. Well, since Meera was still awake... "Meera, I talked to Jay about England." Finally, Anita had her sister's attention. Meera turned in her seat, wincing at the soreness of her back muscles. "What did he say?" "If I'm going to England, you're coming with me." Anita saw the spark of excitement in her sister's eyes. "So have you decided..." "No." Anita shook her head. "But I just wanted you to know I'd never leave you here... in case you were wondering." Meera nodded, "I understand." Then she smiled. "Thank you for all you've done for me." Anita returned her sister's smile. "It's my duty, ma. I want nothing but the best for you. Always." Meera sighed. "I could not have asked for a better sister." "Neither could I." They stared at each other for a while, feeling the intangible bond threading itself around them. They were like night and day, yet they were sisters. They'd been through so much together, and had fought against any hardship hand in hand. Anita cleared her throat. "Goodnight then. Try to sleep soon, all right?" "I will. Goodnight to you too." * Dawn had barely arrived, but she was already awake. The sky held just a tinge of white light against the night sky. She turned to look at Jay as he slept soundly, a hand thrown possessively on her hip. Again, his beauty amazed her, for even in sleep, there was no denying the appeal of his fine features, his scent, his tattoos... his earring. A small smile curved her lips. He was hers... for now, at least. And she wanted to spend as much of her life with him as fate would allow. She'd made her decision, but she wasn't a coward. Her conscience was clear; she was not running away. She was going to England. * Don't forget to vote and comment! Thank you so much for reading! By the Bay Ch. 11 Hey you guys! Just a quick update. Been mad busy lately (you've been warned) so future chapters might be a while in coming. I'd like to thank you all for the encouraging emails on By the Bay, Colorblind and Alex – yes, I'm still working on those last two! But as you can probably tell, I barely have time to breathe right now. On a brighter note, stick with me and I'll try to get the chapters out ASAP! Thanks for reading and don't forget to vote and comment! Love, Lily © 2010 Lilian K. Rockmore It was sunset. She sat on the beach, golden locks trifled with by the wind. Her body was rooted to the sand, but her mind was floating, floating, searching for something more. She felt incomplete. Empty. She'd tried to battle with this feeling of discontentment over the past month, and she'd thought she'd succeeded in burying the reason for her unhappiness, but she realized she'd only dug a shallow grave for it. A hard rain could unearth the painful memories, and she didn't have the strength to fight against it. It always happened when she was alone. When she was around her sister or with her characters, her heartache seemed far away. It was when she was alone that the solidarity killed her, emotion by stifling emotion. She wished she'd never met Rae; she wished they'd never touched, never talked, never connected beyond the tangible. She wished she'd never fallen in love. But she also remembered how cherished she'd felt in the other woman's arms. How tender, how sweet their loving was. What they'd shared over those few precious months. She just wished she hadn't been so foolish the last time Rae had come to see her. It had been stupid to tell Rae what was in her heart when she knew that Rae would leave eventually. But she'd thought Rae had felt it too. Sometimes, in her eyes, Meera could see the longing, the kind of desire that only came with affection. Desire, she thought, scoffing. What do I know about desire? She reached between her legs and grabbed a fistful of sand, letting it fall away slowly between her fingers. It was so fine, so white, so smooth, so sensual. She'd been on the beach when she'd first met Rae. A hoot of laughter in the distance cut her musings short. She looked up in time to see the duke lift her sister in his arms and twirl her around in the air. Anita looks so happy, Meera thought. So carefree. Grudgingly, she admitted that the man was good for her sister. He treated her well; he made her laugh. If only he'd make Anita the right promises, he would be a perfect husband. Her sister was definitely the marrying kind of woman. Now they were walking back towards the house, holding hands and sharing a laugh. They didn't seem to care about what a passerby would think of them, and Meera had to admire that. Her sister was handling the stressful situation very well, better than Meera had thought she would. She'd always known her sister was a very strong woman, but these instances reminded her just how strong she was. Meera found herself staring at them unblinkingly and she had to consciously tear her gaze away from the perfectly matched couple as they came closer. She went back to staring at the horizon, brooding. Seconds later, she heard boots scraping the sand, and she knew he was coming to speak with her. She realized that she didn't dread that prospect as much as she used to. "Hello," he offered as he fell to the sand beside her. She nodded, still staring off into the still waters. "Where's 'ka?" she asked without looking at him. "She went into the house to get dinner ready." He, too, stared off into the distance in an effort to see what she was staring at so intently. When that endeavor failed, he looked back at Meera. "You make her happy," she said with a slight tightening of her lips. "She makes me happy, too." "But it can't be, can it? You're a white man." She turned caustic eyes on him. He shrugged. "What is race but skin-deep," he said, leaning back on his forearms. "That's easy for you to say; you're part of the supposedly superior race." "Well, you're half," he rebutted. She almost smiled. "What is it you want from my sister, huh?" "Companionship," he said easily. "That's all?" "Yes." "But you do know that you're probably the only man she'd ever give herself to, don't you?" He looked away, his jaw tightening perceptibly. "I wouldn't ask that of her. When we part ways, she'll be free of me." The words were said as emotionlessly as possible, though the last few words sounded like a croak to him. "When you 'part ways'?" Meera said, shaking her head. "It'll leave her completely heartbroken." "Your sister is a strong woman who knows what she wants in life. And she also knows what we have is not forever." They shared a silence. "Sometimes I think you take advantage of her." Meera continued a few minutes later. "But then I see how happy you make her and I could almost forgive you." "We make each other happy, Meera. It goes both ways." "I just don't want her to get hurt." Meera said, averting her eyes. "I don't either. You have to trust me when I say that." She sighed, looking away. He decided to change the subject. "A few weeks ago, I met my sister Catherine and she mentioned you. Are you two friends?" Meera froze at the mention of Rae's name before nodding woodenly. Jay smiled. "Yes, I can see why you two will be friends. I could almost imagine you talking about the female liberation movement." A small smile twitched on Meera's lips. "Yes, we had a lot of similar interests." Then another silence interspersed their conversation. Meera wrote her name in the sand while Jay watched her. "Meera," Jay said after several minutes. She turned to him, grasping a fistful of sand and letting them fall between her fingertips. "As I've said before, I'd really like us to be friends. Your sister would too." Meera's eyes became guarded. "I don't think..." "Come in for dinner you two!" Anita's shout had them both turning towards the house. Anita stood just outside the back gate, motioning for them to get inside. Meera rose first, brushing sand off her sari. Jay followed suit. She looked up at him, raising her eyebrow at the new earring he sported. He really was a roguishly handsome man. Her sister had made a great catch. He was waiting for her response to his question, but truly, she didn't know what to say. A few months ago, she would've laughed at him for even mentioning the word 'friends' to describe their relationship. But now, maybe... perhaps... just for Anita? But she just sighed and said, "Thank you for the saris you bought" and walked away. * They sat down to a simple dinner of prawn curry and an assortment of Indian-style stir-fried vegetables. It was a Sunday and Nanthini wasn't around, so Jay bid Anita and Meera join him at the dining table. Anita served them steaming spoonfuls of rice and lathered it with spicy curry. The aroma from the pot of curry was almost sinful, and when Jay had his first taste of it, he swore that the taste was even better. It was her fanciful thinking, but as she watched Jay and Meera enjoying her cooking, she couldn't help but envision this scene some twenty years from now. They would all be older, but still together, bantering over fragrant rice and spicy curries. Like a family. "Anita?" Startled from her thoughts, Anita replied quickly. "Yes?" Jay frowned concernedly at her but she gave him a reassuring smile. "I was just telling Meera that you have something to say to her." Anita glanced at her sister. Meera was looking at her expectantly. "Oh, well, yes. Meera, I wanted to tell you that I've decided..." A beatific smile split Meera's lips even before Anita could finish. "I knew it!" she said with a laugh. "We're going to England, aren't we?" Her sister's obvious happiness made Anita feel like she'd made a good decision. Meera came over to give her sister a tight hug. "So," Meera said, pulling away. "When do we leave?" Anita looked at Jay. He shrugged. "I've to go down to the port and check for the next ship departing for London. When do you ladies want to leave?" Anita and Meera shared a look. "Soon, I think," Anita replied. He nodded. "I'll go down to the port tomorrow then." "I can't believe I'm going to England!" Meera clapped her hands excitedly. "I'm going to pack!" "Meera, what about your food?" Anita called after her sister. "I'm too excited to eat!" she called back. Anita shook her head. When she turned back to Jay, she found him staring at her. "What?" she asked. He shook his head. "Nothing." She looked down at her hands, biting her lower lip. "Jay, I'm a little scared," she admitted. "Why?" "I've never left the island before. I've never even been to a place out of walking distance. And now I find myself going to England... a whole sea away from home. It scares me." Jay pushed his plate away and reached out to place his hand over hers. "You'll be with me, sweetheart. I'll take care of you." If those words had been said in a different time, place and situation, Anita would have been ecstatic. As it was, she simply clasped her cold hands in his warm ones and tried to draw strength from him. "You're still worrying," he commented with a frown as he watched her nibble on her bottom lip. He raised a hand to trace the outline of her full lips, feeling the dent she'd made with her teeth. "I can't help it," she admitted, catching his fingers and pulling them away from her. She needed to think and plan her schedule for the next few days, yet when he touched her, all those thoughts flew right out the window. "I guess I would worry if I find myself not worrying about the future," she said with a slight smile. He stood and pulled her out of the chair, draping her arms around his neck. "Well, that's a lot of worrying," he said as he laid his hands on her hips. "It's my nature," she said, her head tilted up to him. "Sometimes I worry when you're not home after dusk, even knowing that you can take care of yourself." A lazy half-grin played around on his lips. "Do you?" he asked, slowly pulling her away from the dinner table. "Yes." She had no inkling as to what he was doing, but she matched him step for step until they reached the unlit but spacious sitting room. He pulled her close until she could feel the heat of him through several layers of clothing. Then he began to sway, and her body began to move with him. "Jay, what are you doing?" she whispered in the dark, catching fleeting glimpses of him in the moonlight. "Dancing," he whispered back. "Under the moonlight." "But it's dark. We might trip over something." He chuckled lowly in her ear. "I wish the dames at home would think like you do. In London, the ladies consider dancing in the moonlight the height of romanticism." "It's a little impractical, but I must admit that it is romantic... at least it is once my eyes have adjusted to the dark and I can actually see your face." His hands traced the slender indentation of her waist, breezed past her breasts and cupped her face. Anita wished dearly that she could see the emotion reflected in his eyes, but it was too dark. "God, you're so different," he murmured, placing a lingering kiss on her lips. "I'll never get enough of you." She froze at the yearning those careless words caused inside her. His lips took hers again for a deeper, more satisfying kiss, and she felt herself giving up everything she had to the one man who made her blood heat. And when her hands slid into his shirt and covered his rapidly thudding heart, she consoled herself that, for the moment, it beat only for her. * "Anita!" Jay called as he bounded down the stairs the next morning. He was dressed in one of his new shirts and trousers, his hair combed backward and secured with a leather thong. "I'm heading down to the port." "Wait!" he heard her voice call from the kitchen. "I'm making breakfast!" He made a detour and walked past the dining area to the kitchen, hearing the whistle of the kettle as he neared it. She was standing by the stove, the end of her sari tucked at her waist and wisps of her hair escaping their pins. It was his fault that she was so disheveled this morning. He'd kept her awake most of the night doing the most delicious things to her body, and it had been near dawn when he'd finally let her sleep. Knowing Anita, he believed she'd only allowed herself a few hours of sleep before awakening to tend to her chores. Even as he watched, she smothered a yawn behind her palm and swept loose strands of hair away from her forehead. "Morning," he said from the doorway. She turned to give him a smile before returning her attention to the small pan on the stove. "Give me just a minute," she murmured, turning something around in the pan. He settled on the chair he'd claimed as his and tilted it so he could watch her movements. He loved watching her, especially at this close a range. She was always so graceful, so refined in a non-English way that she captivated him. Her hands flitted from one pot to another, pouring hot water into mugs, stirring a mixture or swiping away the pesky strands of hair on her forehead. His eyes followed the slender curve of her arm, the slight dip of her shoulders, the gentle arc in the back of her neck that was so sensitive, down, down, down across the steep drop of her back to the very generous curve of her bottom and further, to her pretty feet. Then she turned to him with his breakfast and a beatific smile and he found hat he couldn't breathe. "Here," she said, placing the plate in front of him. "Try this." "What is it?" he asked, eyeing the bowl-shaped, raised-centered offerings with curiosity. He hadn't seen anything like this before, even at the markets or in town. "It's aapam. Something like pancake with coconut milk in the center. Go on. Try it." The light coconut milk dribbled out of the center as he tore a piece of the dough with his fingers and raised it to his lips. The taste was quick to explode on his tongue; warm coconut milk and Indian fried dough. It was a combination he'd never thought possible, but the taste was wonderful and the meal settled warmly in his stomach. Anita had already turned to put away the cooking utensils when he finally – albeit regretfully – swallowed the last piece of the dish and stood. She turned from the basin, washing her hands in the clean water. "It was good?" she asked. He patted his stomach and replied, "Very." A stray yawn caught her off guard and she hid it behind her palm. "You need some sleep," he told her, a concerned frown marring his forehead when he noticed that the whites of her eyes had turned an unhealthy pink. "I'm fine," she insisted, her backbone straightening in a show of defiance. He reached out to cup her jaw in his hand, tilting her face to his for inspection. There was no denying the signs of fatigue on her face. "You're tired. You need to sleep. I can see it in your eyes." "No, I -." He laid a finger over her lips. "Hush. I want you to go to bed. Take a few hours to rest then resume your work." "I can't-," she murmured beneath his finger. "No arguing. It's an order. I'll be very unhappy to find you asleep on your feet in the middle of the afternoon." "But I-." He kissed her, silencing her protests. When he finally pulled away, she was breathless. He decided then that it would be the perfect time to flee. * Ruth Tatiana lingered in bed on a Monday morning, clad in a black silk whalebone corset and garters. Her blonde locks fell over her shoulders and tickled the top of her breasts. She flicked the irritants aside as she raised the thin silver cigarette holder to her lips and inhaled deeply, feeling the familiar taste and feeling run through her body. She stared at the man lounging in her bathtub, his physique pale and perfect. "I think your wife would want you to return to your holdings," she commented, exhaling a puff of smoke. The Earl turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Chasing me away so soon, Ruth?" A smile graced her lips, but it was a small one. "Perhaps. Or perhaps you'd like to return home to see how the birthing went." He waved off her suggestion. "She was screaming like a shrew when I left. I cannot possibly return without knowing with absolute certainty that she has delivered the baby. I've heard these things might take days." You sodden bastard, she thought to herself. "Well, what do you suggest we do, then?" He rose from the tub and stepped into a robe. "I was thinking that we should take a trip, perhaps to the beach houses near the south." Her eyes widened. "Those are very expensive, dear." He smiled at his reflection in the mirror as he ran a hand through his hair. "It doesn't matter. I would like to take you there." Ruth watched the generous man, wishing she felt even an ounce of affection for him, even a thread of sexual desire. But her heart felt like lead after decades of yearning for love. Now she cared only for the monetary gains she could reap from men like him. She extinguished her cigarette and rose from the bed, wrapping herself around him. "Perhaps I could try to make it worth your money." * Jay returned later that afternoon, finding the house quiet around him. There was no sign of the other maid who'd reported for work early that morning, and he knew Meera had gone back to school to collect her graduation certificate. So that left him and Anita alone in the house. He hoped she'd gotten some sleep. She hadn't looked too good when he'd left, stifling yawns every few minutes. He stopped by her room before heading upstairs, but frowned when he saw that she wasn't in bed. He checked the backyard, kitchen and sitting rooms before heading upstairs. He nearly missed her; she was curled on one of the chairs in his room, her head resting on drawn knees. A feather duster dangled from her fingers. Stubborn little idiot, he thought with a smile. She'd probably fallen asleep whilst cleaning the house. He really should be insulted that she hadn't heeded his words and taken a few hours to rest. He padded across the room and gently pried the duster away from her fingertips before lifting her from the chair and placing her on his bed. She barely stirred – an indication of her exhaustion. He shook out a blanket and covered her with it before removing the pins from her hair so she could sleep better. She let out a little sigh as his fingers grazed her forehead, and his resultant smile held a wealth of warmth. He pressed a kiss to her pliant lips before exiting the room. Once in the library, he pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket and set it on the table. One of the few Chinese merchants at the port who'd been able to speak English had written down the time and dates of the ships departing for London. There weren't many of them for most ships had already returned to London after trading with the locals during the season in March. The next ship would leave in two days, and the others, only a week after that. As with most issues in his life, he felt no pressure to make immediate decisions. He would consult Anita about it, and whenever she decided to leave would be fine with him. Again, he wondered how the society in London was going to react to Anita and Meera being his companions. He certainly wasn't going to flaunt the women and invite trouble, but news like this had a way of spreading quickly. He could almost imagine his mother's face when she saw Anita on his arm... Perhaps it wouldn't be wise to put them in the manor. God knew his mother would try to rip both women to shreds with her words, and Meera would only react to that by lunging for his mother's perfectly preserved face. No, he thought, shaking his head. It would definitely not be wise to leave the women in the manor. By the Bay Ch. 11 Ruby came to mind. The only reason he'd ruled her out in the first place was because she would be residing in the countryside at this time of year and it would be a hassle to make the hour's ride from the city to the countryside and back to see Anita everyday. But Anita and Meera would be very safe in Ruby's hands and he'd feel secure in knowing that they would still be alive when he returned. Besides, they'd only need to stay in Ruby's establishment for a day or two, at most. Whatever the issue with Uncle Roger was, he would settle it as quickly as he could before returning to the women and delivering the promised tour of England. They could probably start with the ruins near Ruby's place, for it was always so beautiful and magical at nightfall, then proceed back to London to see the museums and architecture. He knew the gossip about him escorting Indian women around town would circulate faster than a bullet, but hell, it was worth it if it made Anita happy. His fingers played over the keys of the typewriter, and without fully processing his thoughts, he typed the words in his mind onto a piece of paper. My Island Girl It had a beautiful ring to it, an intimacy that seemed to stroke his soul. It should frighten him, he knew, the closeness he felt with this woman, but instead, he felt that it was right. He would change nothing about his situation, nothing about their arrangement. He liked things the way they were. He liked that she was his. Jay knew he should add the word 'temporarily' to his thoughts, but he refused to acknowledge that. He didn't want to think of the future and contemplated only the here and now, as he'd learned to live. He snatched the piece of used paper out of the machine and folded it into half, storing it away in his leather-bound folder. Perhaps he would write a story about their relationship another time, sometime in the future, but for now, he was happy simply cocooned in his world with a beautiful island girl by his side. * Meera stepped into the small stucco building that was set apart from the schoolhouse. She'd never had the opportunity to enter the school teacher's office before, had always wondered what her private area looked like but never really had the guts to peek into the room as some of the other girls had. Now, she noticed that it was a small space taken up mostly by a table scattered with stacks of papers. The room was colored a cozy purple and the scent of lavender lingered in the air. A closed wooden door stood to the left of the room. She stepped forward and rapped lightly on the door, calling Mrs. Druberry's name. "Just a minute, dear," she heard the lady call. Meera stepped away from the door and stood in front of the desk, playing with the petals of a dried rose on the table. Mrs. Druberry stepped into her office minutes later, pulling a purple shawl over her narrow shoulders. "Hello Meera dear. What can I do for you today? Did you want to borrow more books? The schoolhouse is still open," she said, taking a seat behind her desk. She'd probably just taken a bath as strands of wet brown hair clung to her temples. "No, madam. I – my sister and I are leaving the island sometime soon, and I was wondering if it is possible to get my graduation certificate earlier." "Oh! That's right! The certificates!" The old woman flitted out of her chair and picked up a package that lay by the small table near the door. Her nimble fingers quickly ripped the paper packaging and pulled out perfectly printed certificates. "I always have them printed early just in case the printers have some kind of mix-up and delay the delivery," she murmured mostly to herself as she returned to the table, cleared the clutter with a sweep of her hand and set the certificates on the table. "I just have to sign it and you can take it home with you." Meera didn't think it was surprising that the certificates were a light purple. She didn't mind the color, but she loved the fact that she now had proof of her education in her hands. Now, wherever she went, she would be able to do well for herself because she was educated and had something to prove it. Anita would be so happy. Mrs. Druberry signed the certificate with a flourish and handed the delicate piece of paper to her. Meera looked it over with a smile and thanked her teacher of ten years. "Where did you say you were going, dear?" the teacher asked as Meera rose to leave. "London, madam." "Oh!" the old lady clapped her hands excitedly. "You'd love it there, girl. The history is rich and the atmosphere is inspiring. Especially the cold, so different from Singapore. Oh, you'll definitely have fun. Sometimes I wish I could return to London myself." "Why don't you?" Meera asked, seating herself again. The lady sighed. "I couldn't. I have too many responsibilities here to leave." Meera reacted to the wistfulness in her teacher's voice. "Would you like me to send a letter to someone, perhaps?" Mrs. Druberry waved her words away. "No, dear, but thank you." Meera nodded and rose to leave again, but the teacher stopped her. "Hold on, child. While you're in London, I'd like you to visit this place," she said, riffling through her desk for a piece of paper. When she found one, she dipped her pen in ink and scribbled an address on it. "It's a bookshop with the widest selection of books you'll ever see. They rent it out by the week, and it's really inexpensive. You might like it." Then the lady's eyes twinkled. "There's also a publishing house right upstairs. You could try your luck there as well." Meera beamed as she looked the address over. A publishing house! That was exactly what she needed! "Thank you so much, madam. You've been such a great help to me. How could I ever repay you?" "Hush. I'll have none of that. Do something with your education and that'll be repayment enough." Meera clasped her certificate to her heart. She couldn't contain her smile of sheer joy. Her happiness made her cheeks pink and skin glow. Finally, she had something concrete to pursue once she was in London! She wouldn't have to waste hours and days looking for a publishing house. Now she had the address to one in her hands! Could she consider this a good omen? When she thanked her teacher again and left the small house, she felt like she was walking on air. And when the little girls in the playground waved at her, she blew them a kiss in return. Behind her, standing to the entrance of her house, Mrs. Druberry murmured, "Bless you, girl." * A horrid jingling noise tickled her ear, coaxing Anita from sleep. She stretched languorously, luxuriating in the softness of Jay's bed. The warmth of sleep wrapped itself around her, sucking her back into half-formed dreams. Then the sharp jingle of bells reached her ears and she sat upright in bed, her hair tumbling from its bun and down her back. Beau, who'd crawled into Jay's bed sometime over the last few hours, got to his tiny feet and jumped into her lap. Anita blinked, wondering how on earth she'd gotten into Jay's bed. The last thing she remembered was coming to the room to clean. She'd been exhausted, and told herself she would take just a minute to rest on the chair. Well, she must have fallen asleep and Jay must have put her on the bed when he'd returned. She had only a minute to feel wretched about falling asleep while working before she heard someone knocking on the front door, followed by a few yanks on the doorbell. Carefully setting Beau aside with a few soothing words, she tied her hair into a loose bun and rose to see who was at the door. The knocking continued until she turned the lock on the front door and swung it wide open, fully prepared to blister the person's ears for the incessant knocking. But instead, the words died in her throat and she took two steps back. "Hello," Sami said, his voice strained. He was dressed in a suit that fit him snugly around the shoulders and emphasized his thick muscles. It must be his work attire. Anita opened her mouth and attempted to speak, but she could form no words. In truth, she didn't know what she was feeling, seeing Sami here this way. Was she angry with him? Was she disappointed? Was she wary of him? Truly, she didn't know. She watched him out of uncertain eyes, gripping the doorknob tightly. "I wanted to speak with you," he continued, casting his eyes downwards and away from her. "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other night. I'd had too much to drink and it made me act the way I did, especially because I never drink. It was foolish of me to say those things I did." Her breath became short. She still didn't know what to say to him. "Anita, don't look at me that way. Please. I won't hurt you intentionally. You know me." She looked away, still wary of him despite his words. She could not forget his behavior that night. "Could we talk, please? I'd like to explain a few things to you." She found her voice, hoarse and uncertain though it was. "I'm not sure I know what to say to you, Mama. I believe it best that you leave." His hand shot out to stop her from closing the door and she jumped at the thud it made against the hard wood. "Just a minute, Anita. Please." "Mama, Jay will be down any moment and he won't be happy to see you here." Sami's jaw tightened perceptibly at Anita's use of the white man's first name. He just needed a moment with her to clear things up. He needed to explain his actions to her, confess his feelings, and... "There's no use, Anita. If you will not see me today, I'll simply come back tomorrow." She worried on her bottom lip while he shifted his weight from one foot to another nervously. "Fine," she said finally. "But only for a few minutes. I'll meet you at the beach. I don't want you to stay here pick a fight with Jay like you did the last time." Sami sighed, picking up his briefcase from where it lay against the ornate black handrail. "Thank you," he murmured before walking away. Anita closed the door with a soft click and leaned against it for a moment. She didn't want to go to the beach, didn't want to face Sami. But the man had looked so rejected, so defeated and so apologetic that she couldn't help but give in to him. After all, he'd been her childhood sweetheart and that soft spot for him would always remain in her heart. Tucking her sari securely around her waist, she padded across the floor to the backdoor, hoping to get their talk over with as soon as she could. She just hoped it wouldn't be too uncomfortable. * "I only have a few minutes," she said as she neared him, stopping a few feet away from him. Sami noticed the physical distance she kept herself at and felt a pang of grief ripple through him. "Anita, you must know that I am deeply sorry for what happened the other night. I didn't mean for it to get so out of hand." Anita shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she said. "I've already forgotten it." She could see a spark of hope creeping into his dark eyes. "Really? You have?" She nodded. "Yes. Let us just put the encounter aside, shall we?" He smiled. "I would like that very much. A new start. It will be perfect. I'll not mess it up this time." "That sounds wonderful, but I don't think it's wise for us to keep seeing each other. In fact, I don't even have much time left on the island." He looked taken aback. "Why? Are you leaving? Where are you going?" "I'll be going to England for some time." She became slightly afraid of the dangerous spark in his eyes. "With the white man?" She averted her eyes. "Yes." "Why? Is he forcing you? I'll kill him if he is." She shook her head vigorously. "No, no. I want to go with him. He's not forcing me to do anything." "Then why, Anita, huh? Why?" She sighed heavily. "I like him, Mama." "Yes, but you don't have to sleep with him!" The words hit her like a crude slap to the face. "What I do or don't do is none of your business," she said stiffly. "It is when I want you to be my wife." Silence greeted his statement, punctuated only by the roar of the waves. She swallowed thickly, wondering what on earth she was going to say to that. It was impossible that she consider marriage to him. She would never allow herself to wed him because she knew she would never be wholly his. She would also be breaking up a family with five little girls. She wouldn't be able to live with herself. "Mama," she said softly. "I can't. You know that." "I know that you loved me once and I let you down. You will learn to love me again as I love you when we are wed. Despite everything that's happened, I still want you, Anita." She shook her head. "I was young then. I cried when I heard you were getting married to another woman, but the tears lasted for only a day and then I forgot all about it." He turned away from her sadly. "But I remembered you, almost everyday. When my wife gave birth to daughter after daughter, I thought, if I'd married Anita, she would have given me sons. I never stopped remembering." "Then why didn't you come to see me earlier?" she said, anguished, then shook her head. "It wouldn't have mattered. You're already married. I would never take you away from your family." He laughed bitterly. "What kind of man do you think I am, Anita? I would not abandon my family. I'll still support them financially." "Financially is not enough. Your children need a father." She sighed. "Mama, please. Forget these dreams of taking me to wife. I will not consent to it." "You break my heart when you say that." "I'm sorry, but I simply cannot do it. I think you're a great man, and you'll make a splendid husband, but I will not live with the curse of a scorned woman upon my head." "You will not even think about it?" His voice was hoarse with the pain of a breaking heart. Although she had no wish to hurt him, she knew it was necessary that she put him off the idea of wedding her entirely. "I think you already know the answer to that," she murmured. "I'm sorry." He shrugged, sending his suit ruffling across his broad shoulders. He really was a handsome man, and had things been different, she would have thought herself lucky for having gotten the affection of a man like him. Sami dug through his briefcase to look for the gift he'd bought her. It was of no use to him now and he did not want to keep it in remembrance of her. He extracted the little blue box and handed it to her. "I was going to do it the English way since it's not possible to do it the Indian way. But now I'd like you to have it in remembrance of me when you leave for England." She took the box from him and opened it. A small gold ring topped with a round pearl sat in the velvet, and she stared at it for the longest time. A stray tear trailed slowly down her cheek. "I can't-," she began to say but he cut her off. "Have it. I've no use for it any longer." Then he turned away, trudging through the sand in his shiny black shoes towards the Indian village. She closed the blue box and watch him leave, feeling an intense indefinable emotion roiling through her. "Wait!" she called, and the wind carried her voice to him. He stopped in his tracks but he didn't turn to face her. She raised her skirts and ran to him, stopping only when she stood directly in front of him. She saw the tears glimmering in his eyes and felt her heart break. "I'm truly sorry," she murmured. Then she kissed him. Upon reflection, she didn't know why she did it. Perhaps it was because he'd looked so broken and it seemed like an appropriate way to comfort him at that point in time. There was no concrete reason that made her kiss him. When she tried to pull away, he held her to him forcefully for a moment before thinking better of it. His fingers rose to caress a smooth, dark cheek and she let him. Her eyes glimmered with tears of guilt. "Please," she heard him say, his voice low and hoarse. She wanted to say yes just so that the burden of guilt would be lifted from her shoulders. But then she thought of Jay and what she would be giving up. She thought of Sami's wife and family. She knew she'd never be able to live with herself if she chose to be this man's wife just because she felt guilty for denying him. "Please," he repeated, anchoring her to his body with one thick arm. "Please, don't leave." And the intense yearning in his eyes had her swallowing thickly. * By the Bay Ch. 12 Jay whistled to himself as he headed to the kitchen, giving Anita's dog a mock growl when he saw it watching him warily out of the corner of its eyes. It had tucked itself in a corner of the room, and Jay left it alone as he helped himself to a handful of tin biscuits. He was munching on the second one, wondering where in hell Anita was -- she hadn't been where he'd left her -- when he heard the rear gate give a loud squeak. He pushed the curtain above the sink aside to see Anita dashing across the backyard. It was just a hunch that made him feel that something wasn't quite right. Frowning, he pushed away from the sink and made for the servant's quarters. He caught her just as she was about to enter her room. Immediate concern rode high on his mind when he noticed that her cheeks were tear-streaked and that her eyes were red from crying. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, but she pushed away from him and turned away with a hitch of her breath. When she shut the door behind her, he could hear her soft sobs from where he stood, with his hand hovering uncertainly over the doorknob. It was a shock when he felt something wild and untamed take over his body. If someone had deliberately hurt her, he was going to drag them through hell. * He managed to give her an hour. He simply couldn't leave her be. It nibbled at his conscience, bit at his soul and completely swallowed all other thought. He sat at the kitchen table -- tapping out an impatient rhythm on the hardwood -- for the first five minutes. Then he paced the floors for the other fifty-five minutes before he couldn't live with the nervous energy and rapped lightly on her door. There was no response. He hadn't expected any. He pushed the door in slightly and peered into the room. She was seated with her legs crossed on the bed, staring into mid-air. Even as he entered the room, she didn't acknowledge his presence. He sat on the edge of her bed and laid his palm over her hand. She jerked in his grasp, and something rolled to the floor. He bent to retrieve it; a little blue box. It took only an instant for him to guess what would be inside it. Shards of ice pierced his skin. When he looked up, she was staring at him with grief visible in her eyes. "Did you say yes?" The question nearly lodged himself in his throat, but he needed to ask it. It wouldn't be right if he didn't. She shook her head slowly. His relief was so immense that it made him feel almost weak. He gathered her in his arms and held her closely, tightly, until she began to squirm. But she didn't protest, merely burrowed into his comforting warmth and scent. It was quite a while later when she finally spoke. "He wanted to marry me. Despite everything, he wanted me marry me, Jay." He didn't bother asking who she was referring to. His fingers stroked her hair gingerly. "I'm glad you didn't say yes." "I couldn't. If he'd asked me years ago, I might have said yes. But now... I just couldn't." He ran a hand over her wet cheek. "I dreamt of marrying him once. Having a husband to myself and a houseful of children." "When did that dream change?" Her eyes rose to his, but they weren't filled with contempt as he thought they would be. She didn't accuse him of ruining her future, as Meera had put it, but gave him a small smile instead. "When he got married to another woman. Now I'm content with what I have," she said, then pressed a lingering kiss to his heart. He repressed a shudder that her kiss caused before he held her again. She told him what had happened with Sami. She knew he became angry because he held himself rigid for the most part of her speech, but she assured him that Sami had not harmed her, soothing him until the tension drained out of his body. Then he pulled her up, wrapped her hands around his neck and simply kissed her for the longest time. * Two days, he'd told her. Only two days before the first ship for England sets sail. Without much hesitation, she'd told him she'd like to be on it. The interlude with Sami held her spirits down. She thought of him constantly, hating herself for the grief she'd caused him. He was such a wonderful man, and he'd told her he loved her. He would treat her very well if only she'd said yes. Anita sighed as she washed the dinner plates. It was pointless thinking about Sami. In the end, she'd never agree to marry him because he was already married to a perfectly lovely wife. She didn't have the selfishness necessary to break up a family. There might be another reason as to why she didn't want to marry Sami, but she didn't dare think about it. To do so would be to make herself extremely vulnerable to matters of the heart, and she didn't need the extra emotional grief over the one she was experiencing already. "What are you sighing about?" Nanthini, who was drying plates beside her, asked. Anita looked up from her washing, staring at the other maid. Her expression was curious, but there was a subtle hint of something else in her voice -- hope, perhaps? Was she hoping to glean a bit of information to gossip amongst her friends? Anita sighed again. "Nothing," she replied, handing the last clean plate to the older woman. "Well, if you'd like to talk to someone, I'm always here." I'm sure you are, Anita thought to herself, but thanked the woman instead. Later that night, after the house was locked up and quiet, Anita sat in the small tub, letting the warm water soothe her. The clean scent of soap floated around her, drugging her senses. He didn't knock, but she knew he was there. She wanted him to be there. He wrapped her in her threadbare towel and carried her to her room, shutting the door behind him. She didn't allow him to leave her as he set her down on the bed, pressing her lips to his before he could move away. Her fingers rose to fiddle impatiently with the buttons on his shirt, but he caught her fingers and pinned both her hands over her head as he had his way with her. It was a passionate, quiet loving. Anita felt his every touch, every kiss so keenly that nothing escaped her but quick, breezy sighs and breathy pleas. Jay, on the other hand, didn't say a word, but was driven heavily by her response. His fingers were gentle, almost loving, but underlying all that was desperation. His fingers trembled slightly, but it was dark and Anita didn't notice. He almost lost her today, he thought, kissing her navel. He'd almost lost her to another man. Anita sighed as he kissed the inner skin of her thighs, making her sensitive skin break out in little pinpricks. Her fingers tangled in his hair as he made himself comfortable between her legs. I'm not letting you go, Jay vowed as desire pulsed through his body at the sight of her femininity, wet and ready for him. He placed a light kiss on the sensitive nub at the juncture of her thighs and she tilted her hips towards his mouth for more. Oh yes, he vowed again. He was not going to give her up for a long, long while. * The next afternoon as Anita was washing the dirty plates from lunch, Meera came through the backdoor, her hands loaded with a large wooden trunk. The trunk was obviously heavy, for Meera took mincing steps as she walked across the backyard. Anita quickly rinsed her hands in the clean water before rushing to the back door to help her sister. "No, no, I'm fine," Meera protested when Anita wanted to take the weight off Meera's hands. "I've carried it this far. What's a few more steps?" Reluctantly, Anita let go and Meera walked the few steps to her bedroom and set the trunk on the floor by the bed. Then she let out a loud groan and rubbed the base of her back. Anita clucked her tongue, watching her sister. She could have hurt herself carrying such heavy things. "Well, aren't you going to ask what's inside it?" Meera asked after her sister had finished her worrywart's speech. She was too excited by her find to pay much attention to her sister's worries. Anita rolled her eyes at her sister. Meera would never learn that her safety came first before anything else. She sighed. "What is it?" she asked dutifully. Meera's smile was gleeful as she knelt and opened the lid on the chest. She pulled a garment out of it and exclaimed, "Clothes, 'ka! To wear in England!" Anita knelt next to her sister. She reached in and pulled out a pretty blue dress. "Where did you get this? Did you buy it?" Meera laughed as she rifled through the clothes in the trunk. "I went down to the port today and found these at an unbelievably low price. It's a good thing I saved all the shillings you gave me. This is a wonderful purchase! And the trunk was free!" Anita pulled out a white dress and frowned at the length of it. "The dress is too short, Meera. Neither of us will be able to wear it." Meera took the dress from her sister and laid it against her body. "It's the fashion these days, 'ka. The dress is meant to be short." Anita's eyes widened. "That's indecent!" Meera laughed at her sister's expression. "I'm not asking you to wear them. There are a few full skirts in here that I'm sure you'd like, though." Anita took the dress back from her sister. "You're not going to wear this dress too, Meera. Your legs can be seen! It's obscene." Meera shrugged. "That's all right. I have nice legs." Anita frowned. "Meera. I'm not comfortable with you wearing things like this." Meera groaned, snatched the dress back from her sister and stuffed it into the trunk. "Fine," she grumbled. "But if it's the fashion in England, I'm going to wear it too. It's not indecent if others are wearing it too." Anita conceded. "I guess when you're one in many you won't stand out." Meera pulled a tan skirt out of the trunk, followed by a collared white blouse. She handed it to her sister. "Here. You might like this." Anita took the clothes from her sister and laid it against herself. Indeed, she did like it. The skirt was long and reached her ankles and the blouse was equally proper. "Go ahead. Try it on," Meera urged, giving her sister her back. Anita quickly slipped out of her maid's dress and slipped into the skirt, feeling the smooth material gliding over her skin. It was a pleasant feeling, for her skin was only used to coarse cotton. Then she slipped the blouse over her head, letting the sleeves fall over her wrists. "How's this?" she asked Meera. Her sister turned, and Anita knew from her expression that she was stifling laughter. "What?" Anita asked defensively, running a hand over her attire. "Here," Meera said, standing to help her sister. She folded the blouse and tucked it into the skirt so that it didn't hang out loosely, then folded the sleeves a few times. When she stepped back, Anita looked more presentable than before. "That's better." Anita looked down at herself, wishing they had a large mirror so she could look at herself. The clothes were definitely comfortable, especially since the skirt had a short slit in the side so she could walk properly. "My turn," Meera announced, and Anita turned so that her sister could have some privacy. When Meera was done, Anita turned to find her sister wearing an attire similar to hers, only the skirt was a lot shorter. It was a black pleated skirt that Meera wore with a light yellow blouse with puffy sleeves. "The skirt is too short," was she first thing Anita said. Meera rolled her eyes and waved her sister's comment away. They were only in the house after all. "I just wish we had a mirror to look at ourselves," Meera grumbled as she tried to get a look at her attire through the small hand-held mirror in the room. "Yes, I wish..." Anita started saying, then her eyes lit up. She grabbed her sister's hand and pulled her through the house and up the stairs. She knew Jay would be in the study at this time of the day and she also knew he wouldn't mind if they used his mirror for a while. When they stood in front of the large mirror in Jay's room, Anita let out a loud gasp. The clothes looked wonderful on them! Especially Meera, because the shade of gold accentuated her hair. They stood in front of the mirror for a long while, turning this way and that just to see how they looked in the new clothes. Then when the excitement wore off, they ran downstairs to change into something new and began the ritual again. They did this for an hour until Anita announced that she couldn't put off her chores any longer. Meera nodded, understanding, then promptly informed her that there were only 24 hours left before they departed the island. Meera's excitement proved contagious, for when Anita returned to her chores, she found herself smiling and thinking about England. * Later that night, Anita trembled as Jay withdrew from her body and pulled her close to his side. She let out a contented sigh, her muscles still deliciously lax from her climax. Jay ragged breath teased her ear; he always took a little longer than she did to recover from their coupling. She ran her index finger around his tight nipple, fascinated by its texture. Jay never allowed her to play with his body as much as he played with hers... but that was probably because she hadn't volunteered to do so. And knowing Jay, he wouldn't ask her if he thought she wouldn't be comfortable with it. As her nail deliberately scraped the tip of the pink nub, he reached up quickly to capture her hand. She giggled. "What, milord? Are you sensitive?" she teased. He raised the hand he held captive and placed a kiss on it. "Only when it's you touching me." She smiled as she settled herself against his chest. The man was too much of a charmer for his own good. It was no wonder that she was so attracted to him. "Are you all packed for tomorrow?" Jay asked her as he fiddled with a strand of her dark hair. The glow from the lamp lent it a shine that mesmerized him. She nodded against his chest. "There wasn't much to pack anyway," she added. "When we get back from the trip, I'm sure you'll be complaining that you have too much to pack," he jested. She glanced up at him. "Jay, I don't want you to spend-." "Nonsense," he cut her off. "I'll spend on whatever I want to." "No, Jay-." "Hush now. There's no use arguing over this. I'll win in the end." "What an arrogant thing to say," she commented, though a smile flirted with her lips. "It's the truth, sweetheart," he stated and leaned in for a kiss. When he pulled away, she said, "It seems like you haven't packed, though." His traveling bag still lay deflated on top of the cupboard. He shook his head. "It won't take me long. Five minutes would do. It's a skill I learnt in the army." "Mm," murmured, idly tracing the dragon tattoo on his body. Gods, she felt like nibbling on him; his body was so irresistible to her. Moments ticked by and they lay in bed caressing each other. The next time Anita spoke was almost in a whisper. "Jay, do you realize that this will be the last time in a while that we'll be sharing this bed?" Sated green eyes rose to connect with hers and he gave her a crooked smile. "We'll be christening a lot more beds to come, sweetheart." She rapped him lightly on the chest. "That's not what I meant. Aren't you ever frightened about the future? The uncertainty of it all?" His features turned thoughtful before he shook his head. "Not quite. I prefer to live for the now than to worry about the future." "Oh." He fingers rose to stroke her cheek. "But I know you worry, and that's enough for us both, not to mention your sister as well." She gave him a disgruntled look. "Don't tease me," she chided. "I can't help worrying." "I know. I think it's cute." She raised an eyebrow. "No one has ever really worried about me before. It's nice to know someone does," he said in lieu of an explanation. She smiled, then promptly tried to stifle a yawn. Jay reached over to turn down the lamp. She pulled the blanket over both of them. "Tomorrow will be a new beginning, Jay," she whispered into the darkness. "I want everything to turn out well." "I'll make sure it will," he promised her, sealing it with a light kiss to her lips. He fell asleep promptly after that, but she remained awake, unable to sleep without knowing what tomorrow would bring. * It was a day of firsts for her. She rode her first hackney, set foot on her first steamship. It was also the time she'd ever stepped into the Chinese people's land. The whole island was divided by the races; land allocated to the Indians, Chinese, Foreigners and the indigenous people. She'd heard that the founder had done so to avoid clashes between the races if they all lived separately. The hackney had to pass through the Chinese land to get to the port, and the whole village had her rapt attention for the ten minutes it took to cross the area. The Chinese village was so much different from the Indian village. Some of the Chinese were considerably wealthy, judging from their houses, and they favored a lot of red. There were also poor Chinese, though, and they lived in small kampong houses like the one her mother had owned. But what enchanted her most were their temples. Their temples were magnificent! The design could rival the Hindu temples, with the dragons draped over the roof like protectors. She would have given anything to visit one if only she wouldn't be stared at so much. All through the ride, Anita kept up a steady stream of chatter directed at Jay, who kept his amused silence as she described their surroundings to him... surroundings that he, too, could see. But watching her was addictive, as always. He didn't mind her chatter as long as he could see the excitement and awe that made her eyes the clearest blue. Meera, on the other hand, occupied the seat opposite them and was busy writing in her notebook with a pencil that was no bigger than her pinky finger. She was in her own world, it seemed, and oblivious even to her sister's fascination. Jay found himself wondering what she was writing so raptly, but remembered Anita's warning: never peek at Meera's notebook. Since he had a brief idea of what she would do to him if he did, he sat back in his seat and concentrated on making sure Anita didn't jump out the hack in her excitement. When they exited the Chinese village, Anita finally settled back in her seat. Her cheeks were flushed and she looked just as she did after they made love. His hands itched to pull her close, but he knew she didn't like him doing that with her sister around. So he sighed and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. They were still a few minutes from the port. It was a pleasant shock to feel her hands squirm under his to entwine their fingers. He glanced at her, and she lowered her head shyly; if she were fairer, a blush would have been high on her cheeks. When she finally looked up at him, he tilted his head at her, silently asking what she was up to. She shrugged and leaned close to him, placing a kiss on his arm. He leaned down to whisper in her ear, "I thought we weren't supposed to be intimate in front of your sister?" "She's not paying attention," she whispered back. But that wasn't true. Meera was more aware of the two of them than they realized. She just pretended not to be. It always made her sad to see her sister so happy; her own loss still weighed heavily in her mind. When she was in England, she vowed to find a way to get over Rae. Perhaps a new place would change her feelings. She returned to her diary. It was a new journal she'd started only this morning. She was determined to pen down every thought that crossed her mind on the journey... for memory's sake. When she was old, she wanted to reflect on her first adventure. And what better way to do so than to write everything down? Today would be a new beginning, her sister had told her first thing in the morning. Meera hoped fervently that it would be such. By the Bay Ch. 12 When they reached the port, Jay alighted first then turned to help the women down. He lifted Anita by the waist and set her on the ground, whereas Meera completely ignored his extended hand. The driver, a short Chinese man with thick eyebrows, helped them with what meager baggage they had. Jay carried most of their luggage while Anita held the basket which Beau slept in. They'd had a little fight this morning over the little dog. Jay didn't want him to come along, whereas Anita wouldn't leave without him. How was he to fend for himself if he was left alone? He was just a puppy. Needless to say, Anita won the argument. There were several ships lined up at the port, mostly Chinese junk ships, but there was a fair-sized steam ship floating on one end of the port. When Jay pointed the ship out to her, Anita was thrilled. What a grand ship, she said, and walked briskly towards it to get a better look. Jay followed closely behind with their baggage while Meera dragged her feet, her cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Anita was standing a few feet away from the ship, looking up at it in awe. Gods, the ship was huge! Far bigger than any ship she'd ever seen sail pass the bay. And she was going to be on it! What an exciting prospect that was. "It's not that grand," Jay commented from behind her. "Oh, but it is," she insisted. "I've never seen a ship so big." "There are bigger ones, sweetheart. I'll show you some at the port in London." She gifted him with a wide smile and he felt his heart stop for a second. If he hadn't been bogged down by the baggage, he would have kissed her, public place or not. He asked her to wait on the wooden extension plank as he climbed the steep steel staircase and set their bags on the ship. Then he gave her a hand as she climbed on after him. He looked about for Meera and saw her lingering in the port, looking over a few goods. Shrugging, he once again gathered their bags and entered the small lounge space on the ship. "Wait here, sweetheart. I'll be right back." Anita nodded, already looking out the window to take in every bit of the scenery. There were large houses lining the bay, and she knew that this was where most of the white people lived. Ah, everything was so beautiful here! How come she'd never come to this side of the island before? She heard low voices in the room next to the lounge, then Jay returned with two brass keys. "The ship won't sail before noon. We've an hour to spare," he said. "I don't mind. It's so beautiful on this side of the island. Everything seems brighter, prettier. I keep wondering how come I've never had the opportunity to come here before." He chuckled, coming up behind her. "That's because the white people, selfish bastards that they are, claimed this land for themselves a long time ago. When my father wanted to build a house here, he couldn't even find a plot of land for it. That's why our house is all the way on the other side of the island. Father wanted a view of the bay, and that was the only place that was available." "But the view is breath-taking here. The water's so clear and the trees are so green and..." There was a loud thump and both Jay and Anita turned to find that Meera had entered the lounge and promptly dropped her bag onto the floor. She looked around the room thoughtfully, taking in the burgundy and gold theme that was distinctly masculine. The couches looked quite comfortable though, and Anita knew her sister was thinking that she wouldn't spending time curled in one, writing the day away. "Meera," Jay said, reaching into his pocket for the key he'd been given. "This is the key to your room. It's the first door at the top of the stairs." Anita turned to face Jay, frowning. "Aren't I staying with Meera?" Jay shook his head slowly. "You're staying with me, sweetheart." She began shaking her head too. "It wouldn't be proper-." "I don't mind staying alone. Really, 'ka," Meera said, picking up her bag again. She started for the stairs. "But I sure as hell do," Jay whispered into Anita's ear, and she felt her cheeks heating. Even so, she shot him a disgruntled look. "Is our room near hers at least?" she asked, not going to let the matter drop easily. "The ship's too small for her room to be far away from ours." She sighed. "Next time we travel, I'd like a room with Meera." It was Jay's turn to frown. "Why?" She shrugged. "It just doesn't seem proper is all." "Sweetheart, nothing about our relationship is proper... or haven't you realized that yet?" "Yes, but-." "But I like it. I like you. Now hush. I haven't kissed you all morning, have I? That must be why you're so churlish today." She shook her head as his lips descended on hers for a very thoroughly satisfying kiss. When he pulled away, she said, "You always get your way, don't you?" "Mostly. I almost didn't with you." "But now you have me here, going to England with you." "And sharing my room." She grinned despite herself, then pulled away when the sound of footsteps came from the deck. Jay quickly reached down to pick up their baggage to head to the room; she did not miss the sudden hurry in his movements. But before they could leave the lounge, another couple entered and Jay stopped to exchange pleasantries, though she could see the reluctance plainly in his frame. When he introduced her simply as 'Anita', she noticed the subtle curiosity reflected in the other white man's eyes. But she was sure that her eyes reflected curiosity too, for behind the old white man stood a young girl with fair oriental skin and dark slanted eyes. She was beautiful for a Chinese girl and Anita found herself wondering what such a young beauty was doing with a man old enough to be her father, maybe even grandfather. When Jay was done exchanging pleasantries, he led the way out of the lounge and Anita followed closely behind him, quite grateful to be out of the stranger's curious stare. But she did not, however, stop thinking about the young girl for a long while. * The ship set sail an hour later, around the peak of the morning when the sun made the water impossibly reflective to look at directly. Meera stood at the edge of the ship with her notebook pressed to her chest, watching as the only home she'd ever known drifted further and further away from her. She should fear for the future, she knew, yet the bubble of excitement overrode all other emotion. She'd never thought she'd have such an opportunity as this to tour England -- England! The mysterious, faraway land of England that was one of the most powerful countries in the world. She could not imagine what lay in wait for her. And thinking about it made her skin tingle. When she could no longer see the island, she turned to take a seat on the small but windy deck of the SS Londonderry, letting her mind wander. They would be on their way to London first, and that presented a whole range of opportunities for her. For one, she would be able to try and get her book and essays published, and two, maybe she'd meet someone that would help her get over Rae. She was, however, more optimistic about the former than the latter. She chewed on the end of her pencil as she thought about the prospects. How nice it would be to see her words printed in ink and set in a leather-bound book that people buzzed about on the streets, perhaps even over the radio! She smiled, thinking about how that would feel -- the world reading her book! She looked down into the almost-finished pages of her book, thinking of how she could improve her vocabulary, storyline -- anything! -- that could make the novel better. Her pencil tapped a rhythm over the pages as she edited her own writing, looking for even the slightest mistakes. The novel was long, almost three hundred pages in length, and when she was finally done with picking out all her careless errors, she realized she was squinting at the shadowed pages. Looking up, she saw that the horizon had bled itself of the orange of the sun, and the moon hung high. A lamp on the deck was the only source of light. She was not surprised that she hadn't noticed the day passing. More often that not, nothing could break her concentration after she'd begun writing. Sighing, she closed her notebook and rose, wondering if dinner was being served already. She was starving. It didn't take her long to realize that she wasn't alone. The breeze carried a womanly scent and she looked around for the source which it came from. To her left, at the far corner of the deck, was the petite yellow-skinned girl that she'd seen wandering around the port with an older white man earlier that day. But the man was nowhere in sight now; she was standing alone, her long, impossibly straight jet-black hair blowing in the wind. She looked very preoccupied with her thoughts, but she also looked very sad. Meera picked up her skirts and walked towards the girl. She didn't know why she did it -- perhaps because she couldn't stand misery on such a beautiful face -- but she stopped at the railing beside the girl and said hello. Slanted dark eyes turned to her, and Meera could read the grief displayed in them. Gods, what had made this woman so unhappy? "Hello," she returned, her soft voice heavily accented. "Would you like to go in?" Meera asked, "Dinner should be served soon and it's getting a little cold out here." The woman shook her head, staring out into the ocean now. "No, thank you. I am not hungry. I haven't been hungry in a while." How odd, Meera thought. How interesting. "Is something wrong?" she asked, curious. The woman was silent for such a long time that Meera thought she wouldn't receive the answer to her question. Then she heard a small sigh. "Sometimes, the things you have to do to feed yourself and your family does not give you much of an appetite." Meera made a small sound at the back of her throat, trying to get her head around the woman's words. "And what is it that you do?" Another sigh. "Perhaps it is better if you do not know." "If it's anything to do with the white man you came with, then I believe I can guess." The woman closed her eyes, and even in the dark, Meera could see the shame coloring her cheeks. Standing this close to her, Meera realized that the woman's skin color was not the yellow she'd become used to seeing on the Chinese people on the island, but a creamy white. There was no mistaking, however, that she was not of the white race. "Why do you do it if it shames you so much?" Meera asked, frowning. The woman's voice sounded strange when she said, "I do not have a choice." Meera's voice sharpened perceptibly. "You always have a choice." "No, I do not." The ball of irritation that unfurled in Meera's stomach took her by surprise. "This is the problem with women these days. You don't think you have a choice; just do what a man tells you to do and you'll be taken care of. You'd rather give up every ounce of dignity then fight to survive and support yourself. Its women like you that drag the liberation movement to hell." Furious, Meera was about the walk away when the woman reached out to grasp her wrist. "You had no right to say that to me," the woman said, her own fury glinting in her eyes. "You do not even know me." Meera stepped closer to the woman. "I doubt I need to know you. You're no different from any other woman who's had to sell her body because she had no other means to survive. Open your eyes, woman. Open them wide. This is a new century. There are many more ways for women to make a living, other than selling their bodies." Both of them stood mere inches from each other, Meera's eyes glinting in fury. Then she wrestled her wrist free and turned away again, walking stiffly into the lounge. * The dining room was a small space not much larger than the lounge and barely fit the eight people that gathered around the table. He sat with Anita opposite the Mr. Ames they'd met this morning. A seat was empty beside him, no doubt for the young oriental girl that was his escort. There was a seat empty on Anita's side, too, waiting for Meera to make an appearance. The last he'd saw her she'd been sitting cross-legged in one of the deck chairs, scribbling in her notebook and refusing to get a bite to eat for lunch. Anita had given up asking after a while, and they'd had their lunch without her. Jay was sure they'd see Meera this evening, for hunger and the lack of light would drive her off the deck and into the ship. Just as he suspected, she entered the dining room just as the soup was being served. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was in disarray, prompting Anita's fussing as Meera took her seat. Jay ladled some soup for himself and Anita, then asked Meera if she wanted some before filling her bowl as well. Dinner was a tedious affair. Other than Mr. Ames and his companion, who finally made an appearance halfway through the meal, the rest of the men were solo travelers who were obviously wary of Anita and the oriental girl. What they thought the women would do to them he wouldn't know, but he noted that their eyes frequently traveled between the two women, prompting Jay to stare each man down. They were wise enough to look away once they'd caught his eye. Meera excused herself before dessert was served, citing a headache. Anita rose to accompany her, leaving Jay alone with the strangers. He watched as Mr. Ames poured himself another glassful of island rum from the near-empty flask. Jay pushed the pie around his plate, watching as the man drained it without pausing for breath. The girl beside him excused herself too a few minutes later, and the three other men slowly followed suit. Jay pushed his plate aside and strode out onto the deck, feeling the brisk breeze chill his bones. Ah, the breeze reminded him of England. Even on the hottest of summer days, a stray breeze could freeze a body solid. He settled himself on the deck chair Meera had vacated and looked out into the sea, thinking to give Anita some time with her sister before heading back to the room. He didn't know if it was the rocking motion of the boat or the warmth of the food that settled in his stomach, but minutes later, he fell asleep. * Meera asked her sister to leave her alone. She wasn't up to speaking with anyone, and she didn't want to end up snapping at Anita when she knew she would regret her words later. When Anita left with a sigh, Meera sat atop the bunk bed and wrapped her arms around her knees, still furious over the woman's words earlier. She'd read and heard enough about the feminist mission in the white countries to know that there were women -- women like her -- who were dragging it to hell. Women who didn't want to fight for their rights were bad enough, but the women whose actions tried to reverse the successes of the movement were just... Urgh! She fiddled with a loose thread on the hem of her sari, pulling it in her anger. The hem unraveled, making her curse out loud. Quick, soft knocks on her door had her growling for the person to go away. She knew it couldn't be her sister, because Anita knew when to leave her alone. But the knocking continued even after Meera growled at the unwanted visitor. When the open door revealed a pale, frail-looking visitor, Meera felt her head start to pound from the blood rushing to it. "What?" she snapped, a hand curling over her hip. "Did you come here for more verbal lashing?" "No." The soft, almost defeated voice had Meera pausing. The woman looked more pale than she had a few hours before. She had exchanged her dress for a loose-fitting silk nightgown and her hair was held back with a ribbon. She didn't understand what churned through her, but with a sigh, Meera felt her anger at the woman's ignorance slowly receding. Perhaps it was her frailty or the vulnerable look Meera caught in her eyes. Her voice lost its edge when she asked, "What do you want?" Hesitant eyes flickered to hers before looking away again. "Can I come in?" After a long moment of consideration, Meera stepped aside. The woman brushed past her with her head bowed and walked straight to the small, round window in the cabin. Meera settled herself on the bed with her back to the wall and watched her visitor. "What is it?" The small expanse of shoulder seemed to sag. "I did not want for you to..." she seemed to struggle for words, "think the worst about me." Meera raised a golden eyebrow. "So are you going to tell me that you don't whore for a man as a way of life?" A slight stiffening of stance. "I told you I did not have a choice." "What you did not have was gumption. Wait, let me reword that. What you do not have is gumption." The woman whirled around, and the emotion -- a mix of fury and righteousness -- was shocking in such a pale face. "You judge me yet again! I have told you that it was not my choice to make this my life, yet you still judge me!" She took a breath to try to control herself. "I was sold! I had no choice. My father took money for me and I had no right to stop him. Just as I have no right to stop that white man from making me his... bed partner!" Meera was amazed at that impassioned speech, but she could not appreciate its contents. "You had a right, damn it! You just think you don't! Every woman has a right to choose! Maybe not by law, but as a birthright!" "So you say! My family believes otherwise. That man believes otherwise. Who cares what I believe?" She brushed a tear from her cheek. "I did not come to see you to shout at you. I wanted to make you understand that I'm not like those other women who willingly spread their thighs for a few coins. I cannot bear people thinking such things of me." "If you're not happy, leave him." The pale figure turned back to the window. "It is not that simple. I cannot make my way in this world alone." "Why?" The question took the woman by surprise. She turned to find Meera standing by the edge of the bed. "I don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "Why can't you make it one your own?" The woman shrugged, sending silk sliding over skin. "It is impossible. Who would give me a job? How could I earn a living?" "But you can," Meera said, coming closer to her. The moonlight shimmered through the window, illuminating the woman's sinfully pale skin. Meera thought she looked like someone had lit an oil lamp under her skin. Meera reached out to take her hand and pulled her to her traveling bag. She took out her most prized possession -- a leather folder given to her by Ms. Drewberry in the ninth grade. Inside, she had stored every newspaper, brochure and note sent to Ms. Drewberry by the Women's Social and Political Union and other women's suffragette unions in Britain. The old lady had noticed Meera's interest and had kindly donated every scrap of paper to her. Now Meera pulled out every wrinkled sheet and passed it to the woman; but the notes were declined because the woman could not read. So Meera read to her. They settled on the floor, shoulder to shoulder, as Meera read out loud the effects of the suffragist movements, women earning the right to vote, jobs being created especially for women... Meera noted the awe on her visitor's face. The joy, the excitement, the hope. It was almost palpable, the way it filled the air around both of them. Meera showed her several pictures of women she admired -- Emmeline Pankhurst and her daughters; Mary Allen, Mary Richardson and Norah Elam who were the three suffragists who inspired Meera the most. The woman ran her hands over the picture of Emmeline Pankhurst almost reverently. "I did not know women could do so much." "Yes," Meera countered for the lack of anything else to say. "It takes... gumption." A smile trembled on the frail woman's lips. By the Bay Ch. 12 Their eyes caught and held. The woman's smile slowly faded away. She placed the faded picture back into Meera's hand, but found it caught, snared. She didn't pull away. * When Jay awoke, he wasn't aware of the time. He'd left his watch back in the cabin, and the sky was an inky black that didn't tell him much. But when he looked up and found that most of the cabins still held the glow of oil lamps, he reassured himself that not much time had passed. He stood and stretched, then made his way up to the cabins. He decided to stop by Meera's cabin first, since Anita had said she'd be with her sister for a while. He was all too happy to take Anita off her sister's hands. He knocked a few times and heard a low noise from the other side of the door. Taking it as a sign to enter, he turned the knob and pushed the door in. A moment later, he shut it. * Anita looked up as Jay walked into the room. She'd been curled in the room's lone chair, sewing a blouse for the sari Jay had bought her. She set the material on the small tea table when he entered. Her lower back twinged painfully as she stood, but she tried not to let her discomfort show. She noticed that something was wrong -- not because of his expression, but his silence. When she was with him, he rarely brooded. He was always the one to carry on a conversation or tease her but tonight, he said not a word. His brows were puckered in a slight frown. "Jay?" she said, slightly worried by his countenance. She laid a hand on his arm. "Jay? What's wrong?" He turned to her and blinked. Then he shook his head and patted the hand that lay on his arm reassuringly. With the thoughtful frown still on his face, he sat on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him, smoothing his curls back. "What's wrong?" she asked again. "Are you not feeling well?" He stilled her hand in a bid to silence her questions for a few moments. She understood, but watched him closely for any sign of illness. More minutes passed in silence until he stood and walked over to the basin of water in the corner of the room. He tugged his shirt off and laid it on the small table next to her sewing. Anita watched as he sluiced water over his face and neck several times, then simply stood leaning over the basin for a while. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong?" Anita asked, her voice hesitant. She knew there were boundaries between them, though he never mentioned it. She didn't want to overstep the invisible line. Jay sighed and reached for a towel. "I was just... thinking about some things," he finished lamely, running the towel over his face and hair. Anita frowned. "You seem very troubled. Would you like to talk about it?" He sighed to himself as he tugged his trousers off. Clad only in his underwear, he sat on the bed beside her. "Not right now, sweetheart," he said, his voice slightly remorseful. "Let me think about this for a while first." His hand rose to her cheek. "I promise I'll share it with you once I've analyzed every bit of it." She wanted to probe, but she knew it wasn't her place. The line between them seemed as real as ever. She nodded, but Jay saw her reluctance and the hurt she tried to hide. Knowing not much else to do, he leaned down to kiss her. A hand on his shoulder stopped him a breath away from her lips. "What?" he asked, and the breath of his whisper caressed her cheeks. Her eyes flit downward, looking longingly at his lips. Then she pushed him away very slightly, averting her eyes. "I can't, Jay. Not today." She saw his confusion in the way his eyebrows drew together. When he parted his lips to ask her why, she added, "Not for another week at least." The frown eased, but not by much. "Oh." She smiled, running her fingers over his cheeks and into his hair. "Yes." He laid his forehead against hers. "Hateful nature," he grumbled. His sigh was long-suffering. She could have pitied him if her back wasn't hurting so badly. As it was, she patted him on the cheek and left the bed to put away her sewing. He fell back onto the mattress, the old iron bedposts creaking in protest. He lay in that sprawled position, watching Anita set the sari material away and wash her face in the basin. Then she toweled off and joined him on the bed as well. She lay on top of the covers, facing the ceiling. He too remained in that position. They both thought of what they would have been doing if Anita had been able. The longing lingered in the air between them. Long minutes passed before Jay asked, "Are you asleep?" She turned her head toward him. "No." He shifted to his side, watching her. "Is it as horrible for you as it is for me?" More than horrible, she thought, squirming a little to relieve the pain in her back. Then she nodded. "Let's do something to get our minds off it." "Such as?" He rolled off the bed. "I bought this book the other day... on palmistry. They were selling it at the market but they only had it in Tamil." He found his bag and dug into it, seconds later pulling out a small yellow book with a picture of a palm printed in red ink on its cover. "I was hoping you could translate for me. It sounds interesting." She sat up gingerly, leaning against the headboard. "Palmistry? Do you believe in it?" she asked, curious. He grinned and turned up the lamp on the bedside table. "No, but it could be a fun read." She smiled as he came back to bed and sat shoulder to shoulder with her. She leaned against him, sighing at the instant comfort he afforded. He handed her the book and she flipped through the thin pages with tiny words. "What would you like to know?" she asked, skimming through its contents. He shrugged, the movement rubbing against her arm. "Anything." She turned back to the book and quickly flipped through the first chapter. It was about determining a person's lifeline. She held his hand up to the light and analyzed his palm according to the instructions in the book. "This -- supposedly -- is your lifeline," she said, pointing to the curved line that ran towards the bottom of his palm. "If it's long and deeply grooved, you'll have a long and happy life." "What if I have a little break in between?" he said, pointing to the part where his lifeline didn't meet. Anita referred to the book again, then shrugged. "It doesn't say. But I think it means there's a temporary disruption in your long and happy life." "Interesting." She flipped a few pages. "Ah, your profession has a line too. This one." She gestured to the line almost parallel to his lifeline. "It says if it's a straight line, you'll have great success in your career." "Hmm. What if I have a jagged line?" "If the line is jagged, you'll have a rocky path to success. But success is definitely at the end of the road." "That's nice to hear. What else?" She bit her lip reflexively and flipped the thin pages once more. "What about marriage? The book says that your marriage line is this little one on the corner of your palm." "This one?" he asked, fingering the thin line. She nodded, bringing his palm closer to get a better look. Something odd struck her as analyzed his marriage line. It seemed... forked. There was a thick, deeply grooved line, yet there was also a thin splinter forking out of it. "That's odd," she said, pointing the fact out to him. "Does it say anything about forked lines in the book?" She skimmed through the lines and shook her head. "Well, books do have their limitations, eh?" he said, then took hold of her hand. "Let's see yours." "You have very neat lines," he commented. "Nothing forked or jagged like mine." She made a low sound of agreement. He turned her palm to read her marriage line. "Well, it looks like you're going to have a smooth-flowing married life." Anita laughed. "This just proves that palmistry is complete and utter nonsense." "What? Why?" "I'm not going to get married." He raised an eyebrow. "There are some things even you can't control, sweetheart. Maybe one of your gods has something in store for you in the future." She withdrew her hand and shook her head. "Somehow I doubt that." Before he could argue, she changed the subject. "Family line. These lines will tell you how many children you're going to have in the future. Let's see yours first." He held it up and she counted. "I see five lines." "What? Five? That's a handful. How come the last line is so far away from the other four?" "I have no idea. It doesn't say anything in the book." "Can you tell the gender of the children?" She shot him a wry look. "The man who wrote this book is a palmist, not god." "All right, all right. Let's see yours." She held her hand up for him to count. There was a moment of silence. "Huh. Five as well." Disbelieving, she turned her palm to the light to count herself. There were five small lines beneath her marriage line. Just like his. An awkward silence hung between them. "Well," she said, not knowing what else to say. "Well." "Like I said before, I don't believe in all this palm reading. We should leave our fates to the gods we worship." "Exactly." He took the book from her, set it aside, and turned down the lamp. "Goodnight then." "'Night." They lay beside each other, each thinking of the implications of that little glimpse into the future. Jay was surprised to find that the very thought of marriage didn't repulse him... and that worried him. What had changed over the past few months? What had happened to his fear of being married, being caged and living for only one woman? The prospect had sounded like the worst possible hell in the past. Now he wasn't so sure. Just as that question entered his mind, she turned to him in the near-darkness, a tangle of jasmine and silken hair, and whispered, "Jay would you hold me?" In that precise moment, he knew who had changed him. Even as he gathered her into his arms and placed a lingering kiss on her lips, he knew that somehow, without him realizing it, she'd wormed her way into his heart and his life. A wry smile twisted his lips when it dawned on him that she might not even realize what she'd done to him. A future with Anita. In his opinion, that didn't sound like hell at all. * The SS Londonderry docked at a harbor in London just as the last rays of sunlight flitted over the waters. All its passengers were packed and waiting to leave the confines of the ship. On deck, Meera passed a slip of paper to Riya, her fingers lingering over the simple task. Riya wouldn't meet her eyes as she slipped the piece of paper into a small bag. "Thank you for everything you have shown me," she said softly, keeping her eyes averted. "There's no need to thank me. Just do well for yourself. I've written the address of the place I'll be staying at on the paper I handed to you. If you need any help, you'll know where to find me." Riya held the bag tightly with both hands. "Thank you." Meera leaned forward and brushed a kiss across the other woman's cheek. "I have to go," Riya said and hurried away. Meera sighed and slung her traveling bag over her shoulder, staring out into the harbor as the ship struggled to fit itself in the berth. "Are you excited?" Anita asked as she came to stand beside her. Like Meera, her sister was wearing the Western clothes that they'd packed. Meera linked her arms with her sister as they stood at the railing, watching the busy port. "I'm very excited," she said finally. "A new life. No stigmas. No expectations. Nothing but endless opportunities." "Are you going to try to get your work published?" Meera smiled. "Maybe. But only if I think they're good enough." Anita patted her sister's hand. "I'm sure they are." With a final jerk, the ship dropped anchor. Jay, carrying his and Anita's luggage, called out to them. As they turned in his direction, Meera asked, "Why is he carrying your luggage, ka?" Anita shrugged. "Why not? He wanted to." "Why would you let him do something you could've done yourself? It's symbolic of acknowledging that you're a weaker being." Anita groaned. "I could count on you to give such a simple thing great meaning. He's just carrying my luggage." "He is not just carrying your luggage. These things have deeper implications." "All right, Meera. Hush. I'll carry my own luggage later." Grumbling, Meera followed her sister off the ship. * "Eh Rich, does that bloke look familiar to you?" Robert Rich, reporter for the Tattler, peered out of the hack he was sitting in. "That one with the colored woman and the blonde?" "Yeah." Rich made a sound at the back of his throat. "Got that look, doesn't 'e? Just may be nobility. Eddie, pass me that camera." The trainee did as he was told. Quickly, efficiently, Rich snapped a picture of the trio. "If 'e's someone worth taking a picture of, we'll definitely 'ave a story when we get back." Then he stopped to let out a low whistle. "Make that two stories, since the Marquis of Kirkwood just exited that seedy gambling den." After snapping a picture of the Marquis, Rich patted the camera. "Mission accomplished. And that, Eddie, is how real reporters get their gossip." * By the Bay Ch. 13 When Anita awoke, she needed a moment to orientate herself. She wasn't familiar with the room, the bed and even the air she was breathing. Everything felt different, foreign. Even the birds outside the window seemed to sing a different song. But different didn't have to be a bad thing, did it? Different could be good. Maybe even exciting. She turned over in bed and reached for Jay, realizing belatedly that he wasn't there. The sound of creaking pipes indicated that he was in the bathroom. So this is England, Anita thought, sitting up in bed. She hadn't seen very much of it last night. The ship had docked just as the sun was setting and the hackney ride was mostly shadowed by darkness. She promised herself that she would explore the area today, though. Jay had told her there were several beauitful ruins around Bridgewood manor that she would enjoy exploring. And as long as he was exploring with her, she didn't doubt his words. She was missing him dreadfully. They hadn't been intimate for over a week, and honestly, Anita had begun yearning for the moment when he would initiate their coupling again. He hadn't touched her last night when they'd stumbled into the room around midnight, except only to place a fleeting kiss over her lips before telling her to go to sleep. The longing in the pit of her belly frustrated her. The logical part of her said that he was holding back only because he assumed that she was still having her woman's time. Jay was being considerate and it would be her duty to tell him that her time was over. Even so, her cheeks burned when she thought about telling him such a personal thing outright. Wasn't that too... brazen? Wanton? No, telling Jay definitely wouldn't do. She had to find some other way that wouldn't put heat into her cheeks. The pipes stopped creaking and she heard Jay moving around in the bathroom. Without pausing to think about the consequences of her actions, she scooted down onto the bed again and unbuttoned the first few buttons on her prim white blouse, ensuring that a fair amount of her breasts were showing. Foul play or not, he was going to touch her this morning without them discussing embarrassing business. Turning onto her side, she pretended to be asleep. The door to the bathroom opened and she heard him walk around before stopping short in mid-step. There was a moment of silence before she heard his footsteps heading in her direction. Water droplets fell on her skin as he knelt on the bed and whispered into her ear, "I know you're awake, sweetheart." When she didn't respond, he continued, "You're the most proper woman I know. You'll never fall asleep with your buttons all undone like that." One eye popped open. "That is not true! I sleep naked with you all the time." "That's different," he said as he straddled her. He began lowering himself on top of her, inch by slow inch. "If you wanted my attention, why didn't you just ask?" "I do not-." He silenced her with a kiss. "Admit that you were trying to seduce my innocent self by displaying your breasts." Her feigned gasp of outrage filled his ears. "I was not-." Another silencing kiss. Then, "Admit it." She shook her head. "Then what if I say that I was seduced? That you managed to accomplish your extremely wanton goal?" He placed soft kisses along the length of her cheekbone and paused at her earlobe. A small smile played around her lips. "Perhaps I would..." A moan escaped her lips when he took her earlobe between his teeth. Her fingers curled around his arms, still damp from the shower. The feel of his solid, unyielding muscles coupled with his ministrations played havoc with her senses. His teeth on her earlobe sent tiny pinpricks of pleasure racing across her skin. Her fingers rose to fully unbutton her blouse, but his fingers captured hers. She couldn't question his actions because his lips had slid to hers and had begun its ritual of sliding, prodding and pulling apart. When his tongue touched hers, she found that there was nothing else in the world she wanted – or could – think about. Their bed was her world and pleasure was her only agenda. When he began to pull away, she clung to him, unwilling to let him go, until she ended up straddling him instead. She controlled their kisses now, with her fingers fisting almost painfully in his hair, her tongue sliding over his. Jay had to admit that he liked having her take the lead. He liked seeing his maiden of propriety become something of a vixen. But when her fingers rose to her blouse again, he stopped her and she raised questioning eyes to him. "I want to watch you take if off," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "Very slowly." She sat up, the fever in her nether regions grinding into his body and making her tremble. What he was asking was new to her, but she didn't want to spoil the moment by saying she didn't know what he meant. So she lifted her fingers to the button that held the material together over her breasts. But he stopped her again. "Start from the bottom." And so she did. When there was only one button between his view and her breasts, he stopped her fingers and gently traced the swell of her nipples through the fabric. Then his fingers entered the opening of her blouse and caressed the underside of her breasts. He loved to watch her expression as he found a spot that made her quiver. He loved to feel her nails digging into his flesh, spurring him on. But most of all, he loved the little sighs and whimpers that escaped her when she found pleasure in his touch. Slowly, he inched her skirt up and pooled them around her hips. She leaned forward, her hair cloaking them as she bent down for a kiss. The position gave him the leeway he needed. His fingers slid over her buttocks and into the moist cleft that awaited his attention. Anita jerked in his arms with a loud cry, but he silenced it with his lips. Within seconds, he could feel her tightening around his fingers, but he didn't want to give her that satisfaction yet. He wanted to tease her, as she'd tried to tease him. So he pulled away, steeling his heart to her frustrated moan of disappointment. He pushed her back onto the bed and settled betweeen her thighs, caressing both her legs from thigh to foot before settling them against his shoulders. He brought his body closer to hers, teasing her femininity with the tip of his shaft, dipping slowly, feeling her agitation build in the way she locked her legs against his neck. It was only when she screamed his name that he slid into her to the hilt, burying himself into her welcoming warmth and let their bodies take over the act as old as time. * Such a beautiful day, Meera thought as she awoke. The dawn sun was was slowly becoming a ball of fire, but the day was cool enough for her to need a quilt in bed. She looked around her room, admiring the teakwood desk and the gilt-framed mirror. The walls were painted a bright, gay yellow that complimented the light rays of sun that shone through her closed window. Her eyes fell on the clock that ticked away on her bedside table. It was seven in the morning. Her brows furrowed. She'd gone to bed only around dawn, having felt the need to document everything she'd seen on her hackney ride in her journal. She'd barely had three hours of sleep. What had woken her? Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she wriggled out from under the covers and tied her hair into a knot at the top of her head. She was sliding her feet into her slippers when she heard the low sound wafting into the room. Her first thought was catfight. Back home, she'd heard cats fighting countless times and they always made low, keening noises like the one she was currently privy too. Shrugging, she went to the window to see if she could catch sight of the felines. As seconds ticked by and nothing stirred the bushes below her window, she turned instead to see to her morning toilette. She'd just begun to splash cold water over her face when she heard the noise again. Only this time, she realized that it was coming from the room next door. Next door? she wondered belatedly. But Anita and Jay are next door. How could cats get into their room? Especially with Beau in his basket? She watched her eyes widen almost comically in the nightstand as comprehension finally dawned. Anita was... Jay was... They were... She was completely unable to finish that thought, especially not when a man's low groan tore through the wall and assualted her ears. She feared she might throw up if she heard anything more. Racing for her journal, she was out the door before she could hear anything else that might put the fear of god in her. Since she didn't want to cross her sister's room, she ran in the opposite direction, away from the main staircase and towards the back of the house. The hallway was long and unlit but nothing could be worse than her early morning wake-up surprise. She tried to block it from her mind as she descended a small flight of stairs she found at the back of the house. She didn't need someone to tell her that she was using the servant's staircase. The roughly-cut stone beneath her feet was a good indication in itself. She passed a small, empty washing area then ran across a bustling kitchen. A stout lady with a gentle smile and an accent as thick as the bread she prepared, asked Meera if she'd like something to eat. Trying not to turn green, Meera declined the offer as she breezed past and headed for the door she saw at the back of the kitchen. She reached for the knob just as the person on the other side of the door did. One moment, there was cold metal beneath her hands, and the next, she was clutching nothing but air. She looked up into a pair of brown eyes that reflected surprise. "Beggin' yer pardon, miss. Didn' see ye there." Belatedly realizing that her hand remained curled in the air as thought it was still clutching the doorknob, she withdrew it and slid it into her skirt pocket instead. "It's fine. I didn't see you there either." When the stranger continued to stare at her, she gestured with a tilt of her head and said, "May I?" "Oh. O'course." When the stranger stepped aside, Meera took a few steps forward before realizing that she wasn't in a garden or backyard as she'd hoped, but a walkway. She turned back and asked the stranger who still stood holding the door open, "So, where am I?" But before she could finish her question, the woman made a statement of her own. "Ye're a friend of Rae's." To say that the sentence managed to shock her was an understatement. Meera froze for a second, her eyes trained on the woman in front of her. Short, shoulder-lenth brown hair, darkly tanned skin, riding trousers and boots to complete the look. An uncommon look for any woman, but Meera had gotten so used to Rae that the difference hadn't registered. Then the woman wiped her right hand on her dark blue shirt and extended it to Meera with a smile. "So am I." A little bubble of laughter escaped Meera. She should've guessed from the woman's clothes. She extended her hand. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Meera." "Meera," the woman said, drawing out the syllables like she was testing the way it sounded on her tongue. "Beautiful. Very lyrical. Charlie." "How did you know I was a friend of Rae's?" Meera asked as she withdrew her hand. Charlie shrugged, sliding her hands into her pockets. "A hunch. Some'n about ye made me think of 'er." "What exactly?" Meera looked down at herself for some kind of clue. Charlie shrugged again. "I can' say exactly wot it is, but it's there." Meera rolled her eyes. "Great. Now she's branded me." To Meera's surprsie, Charlie laughed. "Nothin' like that. It's just the way ye move. All bold-like." A small smile tilted Meera's lips. "So, how do you know Rae?" "We met when we were kids. Me mother cooked meals fer the school Rae went to. Rae and I... we are very alike, we became friends very quickly." Meera's eyes ran down the length of Charlie's body. "I can definitely see that." Charlie smiled a little sheepishly. "She got me a job here, too, when me folks passed on. Gave me a roof over me head and food on the table." "A job?" Meera's curiosity was perked. "What do you do?" "I'm the stablemaster." Meera raised her brows, impressed. Horses were usually considered a man's pride and joy and most owners were hesitant even to leave their horses in the care of stable boys. But a stable girl... Meera wondered how Charlie had gotten the position. "So, Master," Meera said with a smile. "Would you like to show me around the stables?" Charlie grinned widely. "Be happy to." "Anything to take my mind off matters," Meera added under her breath. * Body tingling with aftershocks, Anita curled herself around a pillow like a contented kitten. Jay was already up and dressing. She wondered how he could summon the will to stand after what they'd done just minutes before. "Where are you going?" she murmured sleepily. Jay answered as he buttoned his vest. "I have to head to town to handle some business matters. I should be back by tonight." She threw a shapely leg over her pillow. "Do you have to go?" He looked at her over his shoulder. She was lying on the bed, as naked as he'd left her. Her hair was spread across both their pillows like a dark waterfall. With her eyes half-closed, and her soft, supple skin glowing in the early-morning sun, she tempted him to crawl right back into bed and exhaust her until the afternoon. Any man with half his senses would do just that. He wanted nothing more than to spend the day with her, showing her new places, new things and new people. But he had to take care of business matters first. As rare as it was, his duty as a Duke reared its ugly head and Jay knew that he couldn't run from it. He'd been gone from England too long and he needed to set his affairs straight before leaving for another long trip with Anita and her sister. Besides that, there was also the matter of arranging a meeting with his late father's friend, Roger, to discuss 'something of great import', as Roger's letter had stated. Well, whatever it was had to be done by today, because Jay wasn't planning on staying in London for more than a day. And looking at Anita's soft, pliant, sleeping body, he had good reason to return to Bridgewood posthaste. Giving his hair a final comb with his fingers, he walked over to his sleeping lover, the Oxford bags he wore swishing against his legs. The enormous pantlegs were a nuisance, but they were the height of fashion, and appearances did have to be kept up. He knelt next to her and placed a soft kiss on her lips. Her brows furrowed in sleep and he kissed her forehead in an effort to ease the tension there. But as he pulled away, she murmured, almost too softly for him to hear, "I love you." He froze, staring at her now-unmoving lips, and wondered if he'd really heard her say those three forbidden words. But she didn't seem to be conscious of the fact that she'd just admitted her love for him; she lay still in a deep sleep. Shaking his head, he rose, shelving the past few seconds under the 'mistake' category of his brain. He waited for the panic, the trapped feeling and the need to be free to appear and begin to claw at him. It usually happened when women used the L word and scared the hell out of him. He stood over Anita, waiting for the expected emotions to tumble through him. Hell, he even closed his eyes to prepare for it. And yet, nothing happened. When he opened his eyes, he only found himself fighting the overwhelming urge to smile. * The lady of the house, Ms. Ruby, sat at her pinewood dining table and waited for tea to be served. Her companion for the night, the wealthy Dr. Harolds, had already left her home with a sex-induced smile on his lips, leaving behind only a bevy of tiny bites on her neck and a fat case of jewellery on her desk. Lovers are such wonderful things, Ruby thought as she stirred in honey and milk into her tea. They give so much for such little in return. Her latest catch, Dr. Harolds, was a perfect example of that. He'd bought her a waterfall of diamonds in hope of coaxing her into bed. Little did he know that she'd have settled for something less... costly. He was a fine-looking man, and it hadn't been a hardship to let him in her bed. She was, after all, just an unmarried woman trying to make her way in the world. These little presents from her lovers were necessary to ensure her well-being, just in case the money Edward had left her ever ran out. She didn't want to depend on anyone for money ever again. Just then, the door to the dining room creaked open, and Ruby set down the copy of the Tatler that she'd idly picked up. Then she stared in absolute fascination as a vision in buttercup yellow stepped into the room. Jay had warned her that his companion was unusual, but she hadn't expected... "Oh," Anita said as she spotted the lady seated at the end of the table. She instinctively averted her eyes and folded her hands in front of her. "I didn't mean to intrude." Ruby tried not to let her surprise show. "That's quite all right, dear. Come, have some breakfast. I'll ring for some fresh toast and eggs." The girl now looked alarmed. "That's all right, milady. I'll eat in the kitchen." "Nonsense. I won't hear of it. Jay would have my head." "I'm not exactly hungry, milady. I was just about to go looking for my sister..." "But you'll have to eat all the same. I know you'll need all the energy you can get to keep up with Jay." Her eyes fairly twinkled with amusement as she watched Anita bite her lip indecisively. Without waiting for Anita to make her decision, Ruby rang for breakfast. Feeling cornered, Anita took a seat next to the lady, watching her out of the corner of her eye. Ruby was very pretty, with flame-red hair and cherubic lips. She looked a lot like her daughter, Catherine Mae – Jay's half-sister. The gown that she wore was dark blue and elegant, making Anita feel like a girl playing dress-up in her own yellow blouse and brown skirt. She looked down at her hands as she waited for breakfast to be served. Ruby stared at the girl curiously. "You have the most interesting eyes I've seen." Anita's gaze flickered to the older lady. "Thank you, milady." Ruby laughed. "I'm not a lady, and I resent being called one. Just Ruby would do, dear." She paused, then said, "Who did you get them from?" "I beg your pardon?" "Your eyes. They fascinate me. Who did you get them from?" Anita managed to find a small smile for the lady. "My father." "And is he...?" Anita looked down at her hands again. "British? Yes. I barely remember him, though. He left us when I was two. My mother was his mistress for a time." Ruby made a humming sound at the back of her throat. "Do you know his name? Now that you're in Britain, why don't you search-." "No!" Anita shocked herself by the clipped tone she'd used. "I mean, no, but thank you for suggesting." Breakfast was served. Toast with thin shavings of butter, eggs, more tea and sconces. Anita found it a little odd that for once in her life, someone was serving her. But she filled her plate with the food anyway; she was starved from all the activity her body had been put through. Ruby, too, helped herself to some sconces. "So, dear, what ethnicity do you belong to?" Anita swallowed a piece of toast before replying. "I'm Indian, milady – I mean – Ruby." Ruby nodded, lathering a thin layer of jam onto her scone. "Jay's always very fascinated by exotic women. Though I have to say that this is the first time he's brought anyone to see me." What could Anita say to that? "Oh. Exotic women?" By the Bay Ch. 13 Ruby peered at her over the rim of her tea cup. "Yes, dear. I'm sure you've noticed that Jay likes something different, something unconventional. He's always craving new experiences; it must be the writer in him." She laughed heartily as she spread some clotted cream over her scone. "I don't think I can count the number of women he's been associated with over the years." Anita set her half-eaten toast on her plate. "I don't understand. These other women – they are his mistresses?" The idea appalled her. Ruby laughed again, a beautiful, polished sound. "In the past tense, of course. They rarely keep his interest long. There was the Oriental girl he met at the dancehall a few years back, but he only saw her for a month. The French girl, though, he saw for almost half a year. But that's not surprsing, is it? She was French." She paused to wink at Anita. "Then there was also the Russian and even an Arab one, if my memory serves right." "Oh." There was an odd note in Anita's voice. "I hope I haven't upset you, dear. I don't believe in mincing words or hiding the truth." Seeing that she had indeed upset Anita, Ruby reached across the table and patted Anita's hand comfortingly. "Men are men, Anita. They're attention span is short. So while you can, wring every drop of pampering you can from them such that they leave you a wealthy woman. Even Jay, who's more sensitive to women's emotions than most men, is still a man. Please don't expect anything from him and get your heart broken in the end." She gave Anita's hands a comforting squeeze. "I know Jay and I know that he has an aversion to commitment. He likes you for now. And that's enough. As a woman in the same position as you, I can tell you one thing: enjoy it while you can. Savor every moment you have together and make sure, when he leaves, he leaves you with a hefty settlement." "I don't want his money." Anita said through bloodless lips, wondering how a simple breakfast conversation had gotten this far. "Then what do you want? His love? Trust me, dear. I've known Jay for more than twenty years. He's completely averse to marriage because his parents failed so miserably at it. And even if he ever gets married, he could never marry you. His marriage would have to be a political one, maybe even a royal wedding." "A royal wedding?" Ruby withdrew her hands and leaned back in her chair. "Yes, dear. He's a Duke. It's expected of him to make a good match. Frankly speaking, he's sixth in line to the throne." Anita felt the blood drain from her face. "Sixth in line to the throne? What throne? The throne of England?" Ruby raised her eyebrows. "You didn't knnow? As a Duke, he's practically royalty." "No!" "Yes." "I didn't know!" "Well, now you do. I'm not trying to put an end to your relationship or anything as dramatic as that, but I wanted to warn you about men like Jay. I've met my share of them. You seem like a nice girl and I don't want you to get hurt. So I'll advise you-." "Not to expect too much, and I understand that completely. He will leave someday. I know. I don't expect anything more. But I'll deal with that in the future. Jay and I have already spoken about this. He has made no promises and neither have I." Anita took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to ease the sudden pain in her chest. "Good," Ruby said, nodding her approval. "So now that's settled, would you like some honey in your tea, dear?" * "And now ye're going to ride 'er." Charlie patted the docile mare she held steady by the reins. Meera stood a safe distance away, wondering what in hell she'd gotten herself into. When she'd told Charlie that she'd like to see the stables, she only meant to see the horses. Not touch them or get on top of them. Her misgivings must have shown on her face, because Charlie laughed. "She's very gentle. She won' hurt ye. Come 'ere." Charlie reached out to grab her arm, but Meera moved back. "I'm completely fine with standing on my own two feet. Besides, I don't want that poor animal to carry my weight for me." Charlie raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "Cherry 'as been trained to carry the weight of a full-grown man. Ye'll be light as a feather fer 'er." There was going to be no way out for her. Charlie was not going to let her back out of this. Meera sighed gustily. "I won' let ye fall, Meera. Now come 'ere." Meera gingerly placed her hand in Charlie's outstretched one. Charlie drew her close to the horse and made her pat the docile animal. "See? She's 'armless. Just stroke 'er nice and slow." "Like this?" Meera asked as she ran a tentative hand over the mare's brown mane. It was almost as soft as human hair and twice as thick. Meera let out a gasp when the mare snorted and stepped to the side, sending Meera scurrying backward, straight into Charlie's chest. Charlie let out a muffled oomph as she wrapped one hand around Meera and another around the mare's reins, attempting to steady them both. "It's all right," Charlie crooned, though she wasn't sure whom she was speaking to now. Meera was pressed against Charlie's side, her cheek resting against her arm. "Why did she do that? Step away from me?" "Can' be sure why. Might be flies or even a cramp in her legs." When Meera still looked doubtful, she added, "It's not because o' ye, Meera. Don' ye worry." Charlie reached out to take Meera's hand and slowly raised it to the horse. "See? She likes this. Jus' rub 'er down nice and slow-like." "Now I'm goin' to lift ye up into the saddle. Put yer leg in the stirrup, like this. No, no, the other leg. Good. Now up ye go." Meera swung one leg over to the other side and ended up astride the horse. Her skirt lifted to reveal the length of her calves. She barely noticed her state of dress and she concentrated on remaining seated on the horse. "Charlie, aren't you going to ride with me?" "Yeah, but only if ye take yer foot out of the stirrup." As Meera did so, Charlie swung up behind her. She reached across Meera's waist to hold the reins securely between her fingers. "Are ye all right?" Meera nodded woodenly, afraid to move from her perch in case she went tumling into the hay. "I'm gon' walk 'er real slowly. I'm holdin' on to ye. Ye won' fall." Slowly, Charlie walked Cherry out of the stable and into the field. She could feel the starch in Meera's back and knew that she would never enjoy the ride if she remained seated like a wooden block. "Relax, Meera. Breathe." It was the truth that Meera had completely stopped breathing the moment she'd gotten onto the horse. She was perched at a dizzying height and the ground seemed too far away to fall without breaking a bone or two. As she tried to concentrate on breathing, Charlie's left arm encircled her waist and pulled her back against Charlie's slender form. "Lean onto me. Get comfortable. I'll just walk 'er around the field." Soon, Meera found herself moving to the rhythm of the horse's hoofbeats. The mare's gait was constant and Meera found a measure of comfort in that constancy. "'Tisn't that bad, is it now?" Charlie voice was very close. "No. It's almost... natural to move with her. Like a dance." Charlie chuckled. "Yea, it is something of a dance. I could trot 'er if ye want." "Trot?" At the click of Charlie's tongue, the mare increased its gait to a light hop. Meera's hands immediately clutched at the supporting arm around her waist. Little sounds of distress escaped her lips. Charlie watched Meera's reaction with an indulgent smile. "Get off that animal, Meera! Now!" The shout had Cherry grinding to a halt and sidestepping nervously. Charlie expertly calmed the horse and patted its neck to keep it from rearing upwards. Meera frowned as she saw her sister waving frantically from the top of the hill where the house was. "Get down now!" "Erm, Charlie, could you get me down, please?" Meera asked, sitting very still on the horse. Charlie squinted against the sunlight at the enraged lady screaming at them. "Yer sister?" "Yes. Just get me down please." Charlie clutched the reins tightly. "I have another idea. Do you trust me?" "Uh, I barely know you, Charlie!" she said breathlessly as the mare began its trot again. Charlie's laugh tickled her hair. "Ye better hol' on tight, love. Here we go!" She barely reined in the scream as Charlie dug her heels into the mare's flank. Cherry reared up and raced forward, her legs carrying them across the field in no time. By the time Charlie coaxed the mare to a gravel-spitting stop right in front of Anita, she looked as though she might faint. She was leaning heavily against the side of the barn, her face as pale as it could be. Meera, still reeling from the brief spurt of adrenaline, slid off the horse with Charlie's help. "Don't you ever," Anita said softly. "Don't you ever do anything like that again! What were you thinking?" Her voice rose as the shock cleared. "The animal could have thrown you off its back and stomped on you! Do you know how dangerous it is! I thought I raised you with some sense! That was unbelievably reckless of you Meera!" She turned her flashing eyes to Charlie. "And you! How could you let my sister on that beast! She could have been killed!" "Cherry 'ere is a very gentle animal. She would never do anythin' to 'urt anyone." "You can't be sure of that!" Grabbing Meera's hand, she pulled her sister towards the house. Meera followed her sister without saying a word until they reached the back door. Only then did she pull away. "Would you calm down, 'ka? The horse was very gentle and I was in no danger at all!" Anita whirled on her sister. "How do you know that? Huh? How do you know that, Meera?" "I..." "You don't! You can't know what's going to happen to you any more than I can! Do you understand me?" Meera frowned. "But if you're so worried about what's going to happen in the future, you won't be able to enjoy life at all! What about risks? What about doing something different?" "Different doesn't have to get you killed!" "Charlie was an expert..." "I don't care, Meera! I don't care if the horse was gentle or if Charlie was an expert. All I care about is you and your safety. Don't you ever do that again." "I am a grown woman! I can do anything I please." Anita took a deep breath, reading the rebellion in her sister's eyes. "Meera, you're the only person in the world I have left. We only have each other. I don't think I can ever lose you." "But that doesn't mean you can put me in a goddamn box! I'm not some little puppy that will be content if you fed me twice a day. I just... gods! You're so frustrating!" "Meera..." "No! Don't! Don't touch me. I just can't..." Anita watched in despair as her sister ran away from her. She was sorely tempted to run after her, but she knew they both needed time to cool down. With the edge of her sleeve, she wiped the tears that had gathered in her eyes. She wished she had handled the situation differently. Shouting had never worked with Meera; she only shouted back. What had happened to her common sense? Had she left it at home? Sighing, Anita turned back to the house. Maybe she could find someplace to clean to get her mind off matters. * "How long does it take to get to the city on horseback?" Charlie looked up from where she was inspecting Cherry's hoof. "A couple hours." "Good. Meet me in ten minutes." "Meera, I don't think..." "Yes, don't. Just meet me at the front gate in ten minutes." * Jay reached up to rub his sore neck. He had been hunched over his desk for hours now, looking over accountings of his father's financial legacy. Numbers were not his forte. His younger brother, Andrew, however, would have been delighted to deal with anything Mathematical. But Andrew wasn't the Duke. And hence, the burden didn't fall on him. Jay shut the thick accounting books and picked up the letters lying in the ornate gold letter holder on his desk. These had arrived shortly after he'd set foot into Haydes hall that morning. The first was from his mother; he did not even pause to open it. Into the rubbish it went. The second was from Roger, asking for an urgent meeting. The rest were invitations to parties and balls that made his skin crawl with revulsion. Well, it was too late now to set up a meeting or reply to any invitation, so he stood, stretched and decided to head back to Bridgewood. It did not even occur to him to sleep in the house that was rightfully his. His only thought was of the lovely woman waiting for him in his bed at Bridgewood. Grabbing his coat, he ordered his footman to bring around his automobile. Hopefully, it would take him to Anita before midnight. * By the Bay Ch. 14 She awoke naked, wearing only a sleepy smile. She already knew who was touching her, kissing her, nibbling on her skin. Content, she purred in his arms as he slid his hands over her breasts once, twice, just to tease. Her fingers curled in his hair, encouraging him to do more. "Jay," she murmured, fusing her lips with his. His reply was lost in her mouth. He straddled her, holding himself above her with one hand and cupping her cheek with the other. Her sapphire eyes stared into his own, laced with both sleep and desire. He pulled back a little to nibble his way down to her neck. As he bit the smooth expanse of her shoulder, she moaned and clutched his arms. "I missed you," she said on a gasp as he gently licked the spot that he had marked with his teeth. "I missed you so-." Her back arched in pleasure as he entered her without preamble. His breathing immediately turned choppy, as did hers. She clutched at him urgently now, wanting, needing him to move within her. It felt so natural that her body should be fused with his, giving them both unspeakable pleasure. She tried to move with him, tried to coax him into a state of hot, frenzied need, but he held her down. "Don't move," he whispered, and the sound of his voice shot straight to her core. She moaned his name again, but he kissed her to silence her, holding her hips down with his hands. Then, slowly, with their lips still mated, he began a languorous, delicious rhythm that had her aching to move with him. She was trembling with need, aroused to fever pitch and he was merely teasing her with his slow, delectably tedious thrusts. She reached for him, thinking only to urge him to move faster, but he held her down with his body, murmuring, "Don't move." She was being burned alive by the heat inside her. With each slow thrust, the inferno in her seemed to burn brighter. She wanted to cry from the intensity of the pleasure, wanted to grab onto him for an anchor, but his body effectively pinned her to the bed. Jay could see that the pleasure was getting too intense for her. She was trembling, her flesh clutching at his as he withdrew. Her hands were fisted at her sides; he knew she wanted to hold onto him but her pleasure would be more intense if she didn't. As a keening cry left her lips, he bit her neck roughly and slammed into her. Once, twice, three times. She came off the bed and clutched at him as release spiraled through her like a searing bolt of lightning. He could almost taste her orgasm as it milked him, her sheath convulsing violently, making him spend himself within her with a satisfied groan. She was completely out for the count after that. She didn't even murmur in her sleep as she usually did when he pulled her up against him and tucked the covers around them. He prided himself that he'd exhausted her so thoroughly. Placing a kiss on her cheek, he let himself drift off to sleep. * He was dressed when she awoke that morning. It was barely dawn, and she was surprised that he was awake. He was usually one to sleep in until noon on some days. As she watched him go about his morning toilette with half-lidded eyes, she realized that she was quickly getting used to life with him. The thought made her smile. "Good morning," she said, her voice still husky with sleep. He turned from the mirror, having finished the battle with his curls. His hair now hung loose around his neck, the glossy curls reflecting the dawn sunlight. "Good morning," he returned, coming over to the edge of the bed and kneeling beside it. She reached out to twine a curl around her finger. "Where are you going? I thought you were going to show me around Bridgewood." His expression was pained. "I know, sweetheart. But I have some business to tend to in the city. I have a meeting and then I need to go through the accounts for the past months..." She placed a finger over his lips to stop him. "I understand. You don't have to explain." He kissed the finger on his lips. "I don't want to be working. I want to spend time with you." She smiled. "We all have obligations. Don't worry, I'll be waiting for you." He leaned in to press a chaste kiss on her lips. "I'll be back for dinner... hopefully." "Hopefully." As she watched him gather his belongings, which included a briefcase that looked utterly out of place in his hands, she felt an overwhelming urge to make him stay. She missed him. She didn't want him to leave today. Over the past few months, she'd gotten used to having him to herself. Suppressing her wants, she kissed him goodbye instead. * If Anita knew that her sister had snuck back into the house at the break of dawn, she would have been furious. But Meera had taken every precaution necessary to ensure that her sister did not find out about her little escapade. Upon reflection, she realized that she'd behaved like a petty young child. Her sister had only been trying to protect her, albeit a little too much, but that didn't call for the mean things Meera had said to her. Sighing, she placed her satchel on the bed and stripped out of her skirt and blouse. Clad in her underwear, she crawled beneath the quilts to fight off the early morning chill. She felt awful, especially riding out as she had with Charlie. She'd disobeyed her sister's commands entirely. Though Anita didn't know it, it still made Meera feel horrible inside. Well, at least the trip had not been a complete waste of her time. She'd given Charlie the address of the publishing house Mrs. Druberry had recommended and Charlie had brought them to a halt in front of it about two and a half hours later. By then, the sun had been setting and the office doors were shut tight. Charlie had promised to take her back there sometime the next day. They had spent the rest of the night exploring London by moonlight, though they did keep mostly to the well-lit streets where other carriages and automobiles drove past them. It was safer that way; the crime rate in the city had increased tremendously after the war, Charlie had told her, and one had to be careful in the city, especially at night. She smiled, thinking about Charlie. Her new friend had such an easygoing, amusing character. She really admired that about her. Charlie had been through a lot of trials in life, yet she remained surprisingly upbeat. Her optimism, at times, was infectious. Meera closed her eyes, feeling the sun's warm rays caressing her cheeks. It was another day already, her second in England. She wanted to see all of it, drink in the atmosphere and experience the country in full measure. Anita had told her that Jay would like to bring them around to view the scenery but Jay hadn't been around yesterday. Well, she was tired of waiting. With or without Jay's guidance, she was going to explore the place later today. With that comforting thought in her mind, she huddled between the quilts and fell fast asleep. * Paris, France "This one is gorgeous, Rae. Who is it?" Pierre, her friend and confidant, asked. "Is she the-." "Yes. That's her," Rae replied before he could get the question out. She looked around the showroom, admiring the glorious lighting the curator had put in place to show off her eight paintings. It had only been three days since she arrived in Paris, yet Madame Rouge, the curator, had already made the showroom ready for the gallery showing that weekend. "She's absolutely breathtaking. It's no wonder that you're besotted by her." Rae turned away from the oil painting of Meera, finding it too painful even to look at what she'd left behind. "I'm not besotted, Pierre. Let's put this topic behind us." Pierre tugged on the lapels of his sleek but bold purple suit. "I don't think so, Rae. I haven't seen you act like this since you fell in love with young Catholic Angela Marie when you were fourteen." Rae's eyes were narrow as she turned to glare at her friend. "Shut up, Pierre. I can still grind your face into the dirt like I used to do when we were fourteen." He grimaced at the memory, knowing without a doubt that she could carry out the threat. Even as an adult, his build was smaller and leaner than hers, something he had tried to make his peace with over the years. Although his men liked the fact that he was slender, it was hard to make a statement with such a small build. Sometimes it felt like people didn't respect him enough because they judged him based on his size. Rae walked over to stand by the windows and he observed her with an artist's eye. She was definitely upset and depressed over this woman and needed some solace. He went forward to stand next to Rae, staring through the stained glass windows. They were on the second floor of the gallery, watching as the sun set in the distance. He linked arms companionably with her. "Did you ever think we'd be here, Rae? Having our own showing?" Rae's lips tilted up at a corner. "I knew I'd be here one day, but I wasn't too sure about you." Pierre sniffed aristocratically. "I refuse to be insulted by that remark. But I really have to thank you for coming down on such short notice." Rae shrugged. "That's all right. Though I hate to admit it, some of your sculptures are pretty good. It's an honor to be a part of your collection." "Oh, don't you be so formal with me. You know I love all your work. To be showing it with mine..." Rae smiled. "Hush. Now you're going to make us both uncomfortable." They stood in companionable silence, watching as the sun's rays were lost and the moon rose in the dark sky. "The girl -- she's special to you, isn't she?" "You need to know when to stop talking, Pierre." "Rae, I'm serious. You look horrible -- " "Thanks." "And miserable. Something had to have happened. If you need to talk, I'm right here." "I know." A few more minutes passed in silence. One look at Rae and Pierre knew that she wasn't even in the room with him anymore. Her eyes were clouded, as though she were reliving a memory. He sighed, disengaging himself from her. "I'm going to go downstairs and see if Antoine is here to give me a lift home." As he stepped on the first spiral step, he heard Rae call out to him. He turned, eyebrows raised. "Her name is Meera," she said, still staring out the window. "And I think I love her." * "No." The single word held a deadly finality. Jay stared at the man before him, anger seething in his blood. He was seated in his Roger's library after being summoned yet again by the man for an 'urgent meeting'. "This is ludicrous." Roger took a long drag from his cigar. "I'm afraid it isn't, my boy. Your father told me -." "Well, he never once told me. I refuse to accept this. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have much to finish today." Jay tried to rise, but Roger's voice stopped him cold. "The marriage contracts are right here. You may take a look if you desire proof. You'll find identical copies in your father's study in Shackleton manor." A leather folder was handed to him. Utterly confused by Roger's words, Jay slipped the sheets of paper out and read each and every word, looking for a clue that might state that this was all a hoax, a jest played on him by his late father's friend. But as he saw the confident scrawl of his father's signature at the bottom of the contract, his throat tightened. "This isn't possible." "But it is, boy! We signed this agreement when you were away at school. Edward said he had written to you regarding the matter." Jay frowned, looking over the papers repeatedly. Just one clue. He needed just one clue. "No, he hadn't. I can't -- I simply cannot go through with this." "What do you mean, boy?" Roger's tone was gruff. "It's too sudden. It seems impossible to me. I cannot marry your daughter, sir, though with all due respect, I'm sure she's lovely and will make a wonderful bride. Put yourself in my position, sir, and imagine if you're told, after 28 years, that you have a fiancé whom you've never known!" Jay stood and began to pace the length of the library. "What if I had already been married by now? What would you have done then?" Roger took another puff of his cigar. "Thank god you aren't! We've been waiting for my Elena to turn 18 so you can wed her. When you didn't come for her on her 18th birthday, I became worried. I thought you had forgotten the contract!" Jay raised a hand to his hair, pushing the curly locks away. "I didn't know the contract existed, Sir Roger. You cannot expect me to honor this contract in this situation." Roger stood and picked up the marriage contract again. He put the papers carefully into the leather folder. "Is that not your father's signature on the contract?" Jay kept silent. "Are you going to honor your father's word?" Jay needed some time to think. It was just too much information, too soon. "I need a few days to think about this." Roger gave him a curt nod. "Very well. This time next week, we'll be discussing this matter again. I hope you'll return with good news." Jay picked up his coat and walked to the door. At the door, he turned. "Does Elena know that we have been engaged for the past 14 years?" Roger scoffed. "Of course she does, my boy. Who else do you think she's been waiting for?" Jay's lips thinned at the response. His head swam with all the information that had been revealed in the past few minutes. Even so, he refused to accept it. It was impossible that his father had neglected to tell him of something so important. It was Father who had taught Jay to appreciate life and respect differences. He had been such an unconventional man. It did not make any sense that he would sign something so conventional as a marriage contract. As he slid behind the wheel of his automobile, his head began to throb. There was something very wrong with this whole marriage business. He needed to find out what it was, and fast. * He found his father's copy of the marriage contract stashed in one of the desk drawers in the library. It was a replica of the one he read at Roger's residence. There was nothing amiss in the contract; all the details were properly listed, including the fact that they were to be married after Elena's 18th birthday. Edward's damning signature was on the signature line, right next to Roger's signature and the one of the lawyer who had been present. Jay let out a frustrated groan. How could it be that just this morning, he had been anticipating spending the next few months with Anita, traveling around the world? And now, he had so quickly acquired a fiancé whom he had to marry as quickly as possible! It was too much. He poured himself a shot of whisky from the decanter his father always kept in the library. When that did not work, he poured himself another. Only then did he feel the stress slowly draining away. He needed to think. Was there anything Roger could gain from the wedding? Did he have a motive to set up this marriage? Was it just a farce with his father's signature? It was just too unbelievable to Jay that his father would arrange something so life-altering and not inform him about it. Jay groaned, taking a swig of whisky directly from the bottle. With the fire of alcohol blazing in his stomach, he grabbed the contracts and headed for the door. There was one person who could authenticate the contract -- the lawyer that had been present. He was going to find this man, no matter how long it took him, and wrangle the truth from him. He knew, deep in his bones, that something was awfully suspicious about the contracts, and he was going to find out what it was. * "He's left again, hasn't he?" Ruby asked as Anita stepped out of her room. Ruby had just dressed for breakfast and was stepping out of her own room herself. Anita said good morning as she shut the door. "Yes, he left early this morning." Ruby frowned. "Doesn't have enough sense to come and say hello to me." Anita came forward to stand beside her. "He thinks the world of you, Ruby." Ruby's features brightened dramatically. "He does?" "Yes, you are like a mother to him." "He needed love from someone. His own mother is a total bitch. The poor boy just needed a substitute, and I happened to be there for him." They descended the stairs for breakfast. "What do you mean?" "Well, the lady was so upset that Edward was not faithful to her that she made her husband's life hell. Not only that, she took her frustrations out on Jay as well." Anita nearly tripped on the last step. "What?" Ruby reached out a hand to steady her. "Don't worry, dear. It only happened a few times before Edward found out and brought both Jay and his brother here to live with us." "How old were they? What- what did she do to them?" Seating herself gracefully on the chair, Ruby arranged her skirts around her. "Jay was about ten, his brother, nine. I'm not too sure what she did to them exactly; Edward never told me." Anita stared at the china pattern thoughtfully. "Jay never told me all of this." "It's part of his painful past, dear. I think he'd rather forget it." As breakfast was served, Anita felt that she'd lost her appetite. Her heart went out to the little hurt boy that Jay had been. She'd always heard that if a child was abused at a young age, they never turned out to be respectable adults as it affected their mind. It seemed like a miracle that Jay had turned out to be the carefree, easy-going person that he was. At Ruby's urging, Anita nibbled on a scone half-heartedly. She didn't know if she should speak to Jay about his past. Was it her place to do so? Would it be overstepping her boundary? "Do you realize that our breakfast conversation always revolves around Jay?" Ruby asked, and Anita smiled. "I suppose it's because he's the only person we both know." "What about you, dear? Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" Ruby sat back and sipped her tea. "There's not much to say, really. We led a very simple life on the island. Perhaps you'd like to share something about your life?" The request was made in a shy voice as Anita had never thought she'd have a conversation like this with a British lady. "Well, there's not much to say. I used to be a dancehall girl before Edward professed his undying love for me and bought this house for us. I knew he was already married at that time, but beggars really can't be choosers. He was a handsome man, and I grew to love him. We have a daughter, Catherine, who's away at school. She's due back home in a few months. Perhaps you'll get to meet her." Anita bit her tongue, remembering that Jay had told her not to mention Catherine to her mother. "Your daughter sounds lovely. I've seen a few pictures of her in the hall and a family painting of all three of you. It's really beautiful." Ruby's eyes grew sad. "Yes, well, we seem like a real family, don't we? If only he didn't need to drive back to that woman every other day, it would have felt like a real family." "Oh, I'm so sorry, Ruby. I didn't mean to upset you." "No, that's all right. I just miss him sometimes." "How did he -?" Ruby sniffed, dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a napkin. "We don't know. It was a disease that the doctors couldn't ascertain." She cleared her throat. "It was many years ago and I need to move on." Anita reached out to pat her hand. "There is no use dwelling in the past." "That is true. Let's talk about something else now, please. This conversation is getting too dark for breakfast." She exhaled gustily and smiled. "Perhaps I could tell you about the time Jay ran away from his boarding school?" Anita's eyes lit up. "Did he really?" "He did!" As the breakfast extended into an hour, Anita had learned about all the little naughty things Jay had done as a kid. He had been a mischievous and spontaneous little boy, not unlike his present self. By the Bay Ch. 14 She tucked away the stories she heard about him, just so that she could tease him about them when he returned home later that night. * "James! James! Hold on!" The shouts didn't reach Jay's ears as he strode to his automobile with a single purpose in mind: to find his father's lawyer and get to the bottom of the whole marriage contract business. As he fumbled in his pockets for his keys, a hand landed on his shoulder, startling him. He turned to find a vaguely familiar-looking man standing in front of him. "I'm sorry but I don't quite have the time to speak to you at the moment. I'm in a hurry. Perhaps you could leave a note with my butler?" The man cocked his head to the side. "Jay, it's me. Don't you remember me?" Still looking for his keys, Jay's reply was brief. "Not really." "It's Ambrose. From boarding school? We were buddies before you went off..." Recognition dawned and Jay managed to spare a smile for a long-lost friend and room mate. "I wish I could stay and chat, but I'm really in a hurry. Perhaps you could come by another time? I'd love to do some catching up." Ambrose raised one blond eyebrow, a slight smile tilting his lips. "That's not why I'm here. I came by to pass you this." He held up a black and white photograph. "This would mean something to you, I take it?" A blasphemy slipped past Jay's lips. It was a picture of him, Anita and Meera at the docks. Anita's hand was resting on his arm. The picture hinted of intimacy. He swallowed. This could ruin his family. "Where did you get this?" he asked, his throat dry. "One of my reporters submitted it to me for the gossip column." Jay looked at the picture again, then back at Ambrose. "Get in the car," he said. At Ambrose's hesitance, he barked, "Just do it." Stashing the photo in his coat pocket, Jay pulled out his keys and entered the automobile. As Ambrose seated himself, Jay reversed the car, not bothering to wait until the man had closed the passenger door. As Ambrose fumbled with the door and lock, Jay drove the automobile down the long stretch of gravel that led to his family home. "Tell me more. Does anyone else know about the picture? Any other reporters?" "No." Ambrose shook his head. "The reporter who handed me the photograph couldn't recognize you, of course, since you've been absent form the House of Lords since you inherited the title form your father. But I knew instantly who you were. I couldn't possibly let that picture go for printing." Jay gripped the steering wheel tightly, the stress of the day making him feel like running away from it all. "Are you very sure about this? I cannot let any news like that leak to the press." "I know. And I'm quite sure there are no other copies of that picture. In fact, I have the negatives right here in my case." He reached into his briefcase and withdrew the roll of negatives. He passed it to Jay, who put it in his pocket. "I cannot begin to tell you how grateful I am for your help. I wasn't even aware of someone taking our photograph." Ambrose's smile was filled with pride. "That's because I train all my reporters to be as slick as thieves." "That must prove to be quite a pain in people's arses sometimes." "Oh, it is, old boy. It definitely is." Jay sighed and leaned back in his seat, concentrating on maneuvering his car through the heavy London traffic. "If you don't mind my asking," Ambrose ventured hesitantly a few minutes later, "Who are the women in the picture?" "Why don't you make a guess?" Jay said, slightly amused. "Well, actually, I'm very interested in the blonde woman. She has the look of a gypsy, which is the height of fashion at the moment." Jay chuckled. "Please never tell Meera, if you ever meet her, what you just told me. She might not be from Britain, but she has suffrage blood. She'd think that you're judging her worth by her looks." A flush rose to Ambrose's cheeks. "I was, wasn't I?" "Yes, you were. But she's a beautiful woman. It's a common mistake to make." Jay honked at a peddler who was trying to wheel his cart across the street in heavy traffic. "She's a writer, by the way. A very passionate one." "Ah, would she be interested in a job at my office? I do have a vacancy at the moment." "I could ask her if she is. But you have to know that she'd only be interested in the job and not other... benefits." Ambrose frowned. "Why? Is she married or engaged?" Jay shook his head. "But trust me when I say that she will not be interested in you." "A man should try before he admits defeat." "Suit yourself. I will ask her about your offer, though." He sighed as the traffic finally cleared and allowed him to drive towards the office district. "Where is your office located? I'll drop you off." "It's actually quite a distance from here. Where are you heading to?" "Frederick and Associates on Miles Street." "Why, that building has been closed for the past few weeks. Why are you heading there?" The news had Jay stepping on the brakes, bringing them to a halt at the side of the road. "What?" he asked, shocked. "The firm closed down a few weeks ago. There was a huge case regarding fraud that was linked to the President, Boyd Fredericks." "You don't say." "Yes. I have the full story at my office if you'd like to take a look." "Give me the directions." * "He was fined a thousand pounds for a breach of Fiduciary Duty?" Jay asked incredulously, looking down at the article in The Reflection. "What duty exactly?" "Well, the press was not alerted of the reason, but I happen to know someone who knows someone who knew the person who sued him in court. Apparently, he was bribed to give his client a 'poor' defence, such that the poor bugger ends up in jail. There was a witness to this." "A breach of duty, eh? That's just the topping on the cherry pie for me. Where is this bloke now? I'd like a word with him." Ambrose scratched the slight stubble on his chin, flipping through the notes in his journal. "Well, I've heard that he retreated to his family estate in Liverpool, unable to bear the shame of the court case." Jay's fist came down on the table, sending a pencil holder flying to the floor. "What? Tell me you're just joking!" "I wish I was, old boy. Why do you need to speak with him so urgently?" "A personal matter," Jay growled low in his throat. "If you drive at top speed, it will take you about nine to ten hours to reach Liverpool." "You're right. I have no time to lose." Jay stood, grabbing his keys from the table. "Thank you for all the help. If you need anything in return..." "The debt will be repaid in full if you ask the girl -- Meera -- to stop by my office one of these days," Ambrose said with a lopsided grin. "I can't promise that but I'll try," he said as he exited the room. A second later, he turned back and poked his head around the corner. "By the way, if anything -- and I mean anything -- that I told you in confidence today, leaks to your little newspaper or any other newspaper, I will destroy you. Are we clear on that?" "I'm insulted that you would even think that, Jay." "Yes, well, I've had a horrid day and feel like insulting people." He sighed. "Do you remember the Bridgewood manor we visited as boys? I'm staying there at the moment. Drop by in a few days if you have time." Ambrose smiled, remembering the time they had run away from school and hid at Bridgewood so no one would find them. Unfortunately, that had been the first place Jay's father had looked. "I will." * Jay sat behind the steering wheel of his automobile, facing a dilemma. It was six in the evening already and he'd promised Anita that he'd be back at Bridgewood for dinner. He'd already reneged on one promise these past few days; he did not want to renege on another. But the temptation was strong, very strong, to drive to Liverpool and drag the truth out of Fredericks. The marriage contract was like a boulder tied across his neck. He wanted to clear it up as soon as possible so he could go about his merry way without worrying about complications like Roger and his daughter. He sighed, letting his head fall back against the seat. It would take him nearly nine hours to drive to Liverpool. Was he going to barge into the man's home in the middle of the night and demand answers? And after, was he going to drive an additional nine hours back to the city? Not bloody likely. At least, not after the day he'd just had. Slapping a hand against the steering wheel to release some of his anxiety, Jay started the engine. He already knew he was going to do nothing of that sort. Tonight, he would go back to Bridgewood and dine with Anita as he'd promised. Tomorrow -- tomorrow, he'd deal with the mess that was his life. * Anita stood and stretched, her hands immediately massaging the sharp pain at the base of her back. She'd been bent over for the better part of the day, arranging the books in the library. Late that morning, she'd discovered that none of the books in the library were in alphabetical order. The part of her that demanded organization in every aspect of her life was appalled. Thus, she had made it her personal goal to set the library to rights. However, after several hours, she'd only manage to successfully stack one bookshelf. The library had five more. It would take her days to get the entire library organized. Sighing, Anita bent to place the rest of the books in a neat stack so they wouldn't seem so cluttered. She jumped and let out a startled squeak as hands encircled her waist from behind. A kiss was pressed to her neck and she let out a relieved breath. "Missed me?" Jay asked as he looked over her shoulder to see what she was doing. Anita looked back at him, a small smile twisting her lips. "Not really," she said, tongue-in-cheek. He chuckled. "Saucy," he said, his tone gruff. "I like it." She turned in his arms. "I didn't know if you'd be coming back for dinner." "Neither did I." He stood and helped her up, using her hand to pull her closer to his body. He raised her hands and draped them around his neck. Then he settled his own on her waist. "I can't believe I've stayed away from you for two days. It's a miracle to me," he said. She smiled, enjoying his compliments. "I think of you too," she confessed, "all the time." "Even when you're rearranging my father's library?" he said, looking behind her at the stacks of books on the floor. She laughed lightly. "Even then." He stared into her eyes and all signs of laughter fled from her. Her eyes were such a deep, dense blue. It was always hard for him not to drown in them. "I promised Ruby that we'd all have dinner together." "Mm" was the only response he received. Her eyes were fixed on his lips and were beginning to glaze over with want. He doubted any man could have been impervious to that look. He crushed his lips to hers, creating a burst of passion that neither of them wanted to walk away from. When he pulled away for air, he realized that if he didn't stop now, he would have an embarrassing bulge in his pants throughout dinner. "We should go," he whispered against her lips. His mind and body were two different things. Even as he was speaking those words, his lips claimed hers, indulging himself with her taste. He cleared his throat minutes later and repeated, "We should go now." She nodded and uncurled her fingers from his neck. As she made to move away, he pulled her back into his arms and whispered, "Tonight." It was a promise that made her blood sing. She nodded. "Tonight." * Dinner was a simple affair. The four of them were seated in the parlor where a table had been set up for an intimate dinner. Honeyed chicken and vegetables were on the menu, served with crusty bread and wine. As Anita surveyed the fare, she realized that although British food tasted good, she was beginning to yearn for some spicy Indian curry. She couldn't help it; it was in her blood. Jay and Ruby dominated the conversation. Ruby wanted to know all about what Jay had been up to over the past few months. Her interest in Jay's life seemed genuine and Jay was happy to speak to her about the progress of his novel and the different sights he'd seen on the island. As Jay spoke to Ruby, Anita realized that he really respected and admired this woman. Of course, Jay had told her before that he thought of Ruby as his mother, but Anita had had doubts. Ruby, after all, had been his father's mistress. And Anita definitely knew first-hand how mistresses were treated. But the way Jay complimented her looks and spoke about things that would please her showed that he really cared for this woman deeply. It was something new about him that she found she really liked. Through dinner, Anita chimed in with little tidbits of her own, playfully teasing Jay and making Ruby laugh. Anita found that she liked the dinner arrangement very much. "Meera," Jay said, and Meera started as though her mind had been somewhere else. "How are you liking England thus far?" Meera popped a piece of crusty bread into her mouth. "Thus far, I think I've seen very little of it." Jay cleared his throat whilst Anita glared at her sister. "Well, I do have to apologize for that. There were some pressing business matters to attend to in the city." To that, Meera said nothing. "But I do have some good news," Jay continued. Meera raised an eyebrow at that. "A friend of mine who runs a news agency is wondering if you're interested to work for him. I told him that you're a very passionate writer and you have an educational background." Ruby cut in. "From our talk the other day, I gathered that you wrote fiction, not newspaper articles. Was I misinformed?" "No, no, you weren't. I do prefer to write fiction, but I can do a good job of writing other pieces like newspaper and magazine articles as well." "Well, should I tell Ambrose that you're interested then? Perhaps you could work for him for a time after we return from our trip." Meera took a sip of her wine. "That would be nice." Anita glared pointedly at her sister, hoping she would get the hint and say thank you. Since nothing was forthcoming, she reached over to hold Jay's hand in hers and gave it a quick squeeze, thanking him in her own way. His other hand covered hers, acknowledging her unspoken words. The rest of the dinner was spent discussing Jay's travel plans. He planned to take both Anita and Meera all over Europe. He had, of course, been to those places before, but he wanted to see it all again with Anita. They would probably take a few months to visit those places. Ruby was generous enough to invite them to stay at Bridgewood once they returned. Meera excused herself from dinner early. "Where are you going?" Anita asked, concerned. She had seen so little of her sister since yesterday and even when she spotted her, Meera was always moping around the manor. Meera soon began to feel uncomfortable with three pairs of eyes watching her. "Um, I'm going to spend some time with Charlie before bed," she murmured. "Well, you've become fast friends, haven't you?" Jay asked, cutting off Anita's remark of disapproval. Meera's eyes immediately snapped to his. There had been something in his tone -- just a hint of it -- that seemed to imply that he knew about... it. What did he mean by 'fast friends'? Was he just being his own odd self, or... did he know about her? Had he somehow found out? She told herself to calm down. It was impossible. She had told no one. It was too personal. She was just being paranoid. She took a deep breath and gave the party a small smile before leaving. After Meera's departure, conversation dwindled to trivial things. Ruby asked after Jay's brother, Andrew's, health. As far as Jay knew, the lad was fine. He had his own accounting firm, which seemed to be doing well. Needless to say, Andrew had inherited the mathematical brains in the family. After half an hour of light conversation, they retired to their rooms. Ruby had to prepare herself for Dr. Harolds' arrival and Jay was itching to get Anita alone again. * Once in their room, Anita excused herself to use the bathroom. Jay stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the settee nearby. Then he went to the window and stared into the darkness in front of him. Without Anita by his side to distract him, his thoughts flew back to Roger and the contract. Would he be able to sort through the mess by tomorrow? Would he be able to find Fredericks and finally get the truth? Was anything going to be resolved? It was a frightening thought. If he didn't manage to prove the contract false, the alternative was almost unbearable to think of. He felt like he couldn't breathe just imagining a marriage as cold as the one he would have. He'd sworn to himself that he'd never put himself through what his father had; he hoped he could see it through. When Anita stepped back into the room, she saw Jay frowning into the darkness. His lips were pressed into a frown and his muscles were tight and drawn. There was worry etched in every line of his face. She reached out and touched his arm. He tensed for a moment, then seemed to relax by force of sheer will. "Is something wrong?" she asked, concern obvious in her eyes. She knew him too well to know that something was bothering him. He was the kind of man to shake off the little worries in life. So for him to appear so troubled... it scared her a little. He cupped the hand that was on his arm and brought it to his lips. "Nothing's wrong now that you're here." She smiled even though her worry was still apparent. "You have a sweet tongue. Are you sure nothing is amiss?" His answer was to pull her close and kiss her. He didn't want to think about problems anymore. He just wanted to be with her. It was the reason he'd come to Bridgewood for dinner. Being with her made him feel like a simple man who lived for simple pleasures. He left everything else behind and savored each moment. With her, there were no obligations, no stress, no deadlines, no need for pretenses. She liked him for who he was as a person, not as a Duke or an heir or a Lord. That was the most endearing quality about Anita. The acceptance and affection she had for him were the factors that heated his body the most, making him want to give more than take. It was so easy for him, she thought. So easy to wipe everything clear from her mind. It was his touch, his heat, his scent, the feel of his lips on hers. Every time it happened, it felt like she was coming home. She forgot everything that was not him. She didn't know how he could bewitch her so. Just one kiss, one touch and she'd melt for him. As his tongue dueled with hers, she felt light-headed yet unbearably strong. She wanted more, needed more. But that was nothing new. She always wanted more of him. He ripped the blouse from her body, sending the white cotton floating to the floor. Her breasts were bare for his ministrations and he caressed them, though not very gently. She whimpered into his mouth, her fingers curling into his hair. The tug on his scalp was a delicious sting. God, he wanted to get closer to her. The taste of her intoxicated him. The smell of flowers in her hair was most definitely his choice of drug. The feel of her body pressed against him, responding so sweetly... dear god, he thought as a shudder passed through him. He wanted more. He pulled his lips away and whispered, "Touch me." He took her hand and placed it at the apex of his pants. "Like that. Touch me." Touch him she did. They'd never really done this before, though she knew of numerous occasions when he'd touch her down there. She petted him through the barrier of his pants, her touch light and teasing. As she stroked her palm across the bulge, his breaths came in short pants against her ear. By the Bay Ch. 14 "Show me," she said. "Show me what to do." She felt his hands tremble slightly as he guided her fingers into his pants. Fingers in her hair tightened, but she liked it. Using one hand to unbutton his pants, she caressed the straining shaft, marveling at how warm and smooth it felt to the touch. A mangled groan tore from his throat and the tendons stood out on his neck. She caressed him lightly at first before he showed her just how he liked to be touched. She felt in control. For once, it was she who controlled his pleasure. It was she who had him quivering in her arms. She loved every minute of it. "I want to taste it," she whispered to him, the blush evident in her voice. "Will you let me?" It was the final straw. Her words had his control snapping. He lifted her and followed her down onto the bed, hiking her skirt up and plunging into her moist heat without preamble. She let out a gurgling sound of pleasure. Her legs went around his waist and clasped him to her. His breath was hot and rapid against her neck. She could feel the strength in his body, the power. Her sheath quivered and she knew she would fall into the abyss very soon. His hand reached up and stroked a nipple. She moaned, filling her hands with the sheets. She needed something to hold on to. The pain was sharp, sudden. She cried out as Jay pinched her nipple. It was all the stimulation she needed to send her spiraling into fulfillment. Jay followed shortly after, unable to deny the rapid fluttering of her sheath. As he lay above her, cradled in the musk of sex and their mingled scent, she murmured, "I love you." *