The Ball- Part Six
The Ball- Part Six: (c) 2006 T.A. Chase
This night I scour the swirling crowd. I search with anxious eyes for the man I’m becoming infatuated with.
“Got your eye on anyone, son?”
I stiffen and turn to see my uncle standing beside me. His bluff face and jovial manner makes my father despise him, but there has always been something safe about him for me.
“No, sir.”
“Just as well. The cream of the crop is your cousin and we can’t have you two getting married.” He laughs and slaps my shoulder in jest.
I manage a slight smile, trying not to wince. My father had shoved me into the wall earlier in the day, leaving a bruise at the spot my uncle hit.
“A rather unattractive crop of fillies this season,” he continues, either not noticing or not caring about my discomfort.
A wave of heat surrounds me as if my clothes have caught on fire. He is here. Moving through the room, he greets lord and lady alike, showing no favor to any. My heart begins to pound. Sweat beads on my forehead. The moment of my freedom moves closer with each step he takes towards me. Will my fear take this chance from me?
I take a step towards him, his laughter calling to me like a siren does to the sailors on the sea. I meet resistance. Looking down, I see my uncle’s hand on my arm.
Panic, fear and shame shoot through me. Does he know? Has my father voiced his displeasure in me to my uncle?
“Careful, son.” Uncle’s gaze swings from me to where the Duke stands. There is nothing in his eyes to warn me how he feels. “You must learn to play their games.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I force through my panic.
“You do know what I’m saying. Come see me tomorrow. We’ve much to discuss.” He squeezes my arm and turns to leave. Looking back over his shoulder, he says, “I live in a glass house as well, son. There’ll be no stones thrown by me.”
I struggle to grasp what he says to me, but all I can think of is Greyson strolling towards me. My heart pounds and my blood seems to be boiling.
“Breathe,” I whisper to myself.
Uncle’s warning wings through my deprived brain. Fainting at his Grace’s feet isn’t being careful. It would bring attention to both of us. I don’t think I could survive the stares and laughter.
“You’re here.” His tone is soft so no one can hear him. “What have you got to lose?” He repeats his question.
Silence reigns between us. I’m choking on my answer. I know it’ll change my life, no matter what I say. There is no one else in the room with us, even though we are surrounded by the ton. No sound is heard though an orchestra plays in the back ground.
I want to speak. My soul begs my mouth to open; begs my throat to allow the words out. Fear has clamped its claws deep into my flesh and shame stands guard to keep me from busting free.
Emotions flash in his blue eyes and I’m not sure if they are anger, hurt or sadness. So many emotions I know the intimate touch of, but have never seen in anyone’s eyes.
He nods and moves away, disappointment on his face. That’s one expression I recognize, having seen it on my father’s face all my life. I want to stop him. I want to hold out my hand and touch him. The weight of the stares hold me back. In all of God’s world, there is no creature more pathetic than me.
Remember….
On Omaha, men cried.
I’m a stranger
But it’s for me they died.
I’m every son.
I’m every daughter.
I’m everyone.
They had names.
They had gods.
They had dreams.
Every man bled on Normandy.
Every soldier lost.
They came back to bury the dead.
Thousands of questions asked.
Thousands of silent sighs.
Only one answer: Freedom
“I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand. It’s when you know you’re licked before you begin but you begin anyway and you see it through no matter what.”— Harper Lee
Sunday Kind of Love
I love that song. 🙂 Here’s another man in uniform. Love that scruffy unshaved look and those abs. Hot.Did get some writing done last night. Not a lot on any one story, but a little written on a bunch of different ones. Weather was nice, so spent much of the day just lazing around.
Hope everyone’s weekend is going great.
“It’s curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.”—Mark Twain
Saturday fun
Our second man in uniform. 🙂
It looks to be a beautiful day out. Finally no clouds for today anyway.
I got the tenth scene written for The Ball and started the eleventh. I’m starting to think it’s time for Angel to find some courage. I’m pretty sure we’re all going to be surprised with him once he makes a break from his father. 🙂
Not much else got done. C got home without any problems yesterday. 🙂
“Courage is the art of being the only one who knows you’re scared to death.”—Harold Wilson
TGIF
In honor of Memorial Day here in the States, I’ll be posting pics of men in uniform the next four days. 🙂 So enjoy those brave men who serve and are willing to give their lives for us. Don’t forget the women either…for they give up just as much.
Little got done last night. Had to work on cleaning up the house since C is coming home tonight. Woo-Hoo! Haven’t seen him in a week and a half.
In other news, Barbaro-the Kentucky Derby winner-is doing well after his surgery to fix his broken leg. The poor horse has 23 steel pins in his lower leg. The vet who operated on him said it was the worse leg injury he’d ever seen. It’s the type of injury where the horse is usually humanely destroyed because the chances of it surviving surgery and recovery are slim to none. But Barbaro’s owners are willing to take a shot that the heart that made the colt a good runner will give him the will to live. (People in the racing business rarely use the word great. It’s reserved for horses whose names bring back memories of dominating performances..like Secretariat or Man O’ War) Unfortunate for us, we’ll never know what Barbaro might have done.
So what is everyone doing for the weekend? Hope you have a good one.
“Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace.”–Amelia Earhart
Slight glich in blog
Not sure what the hell was up with Blogger today. Unfortunately I didn’t have time until just a few minutes ago to actually sit down and figure it out. I republished the entire blog. Hopefully that fixes the problem.
Did a little research last night, but now that I have the link S.W. sent me, I’ll really start taking notes about how the tea ceremony should go. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I’ll get it right and not get angry emails telling me I screwed some little thing up. (which is entirely possible..lol) Wrote a little on Lyva’s Chance, Rescued From Fear and the third book in my Dragons series. Of course, I might want to start working on the second book first…lol.
Enjoy the sun and beach. Maybe this guy’ll take y’all surfing.
“It’s the friends you can call up at four a.m. that matter.”–Marlene Dietrich
Happy Hunk Day!
Yep..it’s Wednesday again. Thank goodness. Another two days and then a long weekend. 🙂
Did some more writing. Worked on a short story that will be part of a two-story book Paige and I are doing for Liquid Silver. Has to do with food. Now I have to do some research on the Japanese tea ceremony. *shaking head* Sometimes I wonder why I come up with these ideas…lol. Also went back to re-read some of Here Be Dragons (coming out in the fall from Loose-id). I’m getting a scene in my mind that will actually take place in the third book of the series. The second one (which I haven’t done much thinking on) will be Mordred and St. George’s story. Should be fun.
Well…off to do my ‘real’ job. Have a great day, everyone.
“In Heaven all the interesting people are missing.”—Friedrich Nietzsche
The Ball- Part Five
The Ball (c) 2006 T.A. Chase
Part Five-
“What have you got to lose?”
His question burns in my mind. I sit at the table and listen to my father rant about me going to the ball tonight. For the first time, I want to scream at him to shut the hell up. I’m dressed and sitting at the table instead of hiding. For one moment in my life, I am doing just exactly as he wishes and yet he isn’t happy.
I’m going to the ball because it’s the only way I know to contact his Grace. My courage doesn’t extend to visiting his house. I’m not sure my courage will last long enough for me to tell him I have nothing to lose.
It’s been difficult to admit that fact to myself. It’s been heart wrenching and painful. Much like amputating a limb would be, I imagine. My family surrounds me, but I’m not a part of them. They are living their lives in the narrow confines of the society they love. I’m not living at all. I’m merely existing, pushed outside of their circle and watching them as if they were actors on stage, playing at being loving caring people.
Staring at my father, I feel a strange weight lift from my chest. All my life I feared losing his love and respect. Then I catch a glimpse of the marks on my back and I realize I never had them. He hates me and always has. Nothing I do will ever bring that back to me. Not once has a kind hand been held out to me. Not even my mother cares what happens to me. She turned her back on me the day I was born and has never looked at me since then.
A stinging slap captures my attention. Quickly I drop my gaze. My father sees any confidence in me as a direct challenge. Without thought, I run my finger over the angry marks on my wrist. My last desperate cry for some sort of acknowledgement. If not for my uncle, I would have bled to death and that is another reason why I feel some obligation to my uncle. Whether he knows of my affliction or not, he still welcomes me with some sort of warmth. My father would have mourned in public, but rejoiced in private at my death.
I tune him out as he begins his tirade. In my mind, I imagine Greyson’s face. I recreate the touch of his lips and the feel of his body against mine. How could such a man like the Duke suffer my touch?
Yet he revels in it and seems willing to do whatever he must to suffer my hands again. My soul hungers for his taste and heat. If I’m depraved and insane, I will wallow in my perversions with a glad heart as long as he is with me. His touch is kind and gentle. Though I have spent precious little time with him, he sees me for what I really am and he doesn’t turn from me. I long for him to embrace my lonely soul and show me that I’m not a freak. I want him to prove my father’s words wrong. I’m not the devil’s spawn. I won’t destroy everything I love. I can survive outside the cage they have forced me to live in.
Lord Greyson has given me the keys to my freedom with two kisses and a sad smile.
My Cover!
Here it is, everyone. The cover for my LSB book, No Going Home. It’s exactly what I wanted. I was excited to see it when April Martinez sent it to me. 🙂 She’s so very talented.
I also got my first edits. Haven’t looked at them yet. Plan on doing that tonight. I’ve been hiding out…doing as much writing as I can. Want to get more books done, so I can have more great covers like this one. 🙂
Have a great day, everyone.
The Ball- Part Four
THE BALL (c) 2006 T.A. ChasePart 4:
It has been two days since the disastrous kiss in my uncle’s library. Somehow I’ve managed to avoid going to any balls. My family doesn’t miss my presence. The early morning fog carpets the ground in front of me as I ride my gelding in Hyde Park. He’s well-mannered so my mind twists and turns my encounters with the Duke.
The memories of our kiss drive me crazy with lust. Late at night I ache to be held in his arms again. Then I’d feel the tortured skin on my back and realize my infection somehow has poisoned his Grace.
It’s the only explanation I have for his searching me out and touching me. I’ve bewitched him. My father’s words are true. I am the devil’s spawn. I’ve corrupted a god and perverted him. A heaving sob rises in my chest. Once more I wonder why I didn’t die when my father begged me to after the wounds from my whipping festered. Why hang on to a life without joy or love?
I’m buried deep in my thoughts and don’t hear him approach until his gloved hand appears before my eyes to touch my own hand.
“Angel.” His voice is warm.
My gaze shoots to his face and horror fills my heart at the wound on his lip. Without thought, my fingers caress the air over it. He doesn’t flinch.
“I’m sorry.” Tears slip down my cheek. Ducking my head, I grimace. It’s bad enough he’s guessed my secret longings. He must think I’m weak with all the tears I shed around him.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s a small price to pay to be able to taste you.” He grabs my hand and lays our entwined fingers on his thigh.
Glancing wildly around, I try to free myself. “Your Grace, we mustn’t be seen like this.” Fear tracks down my spine, branching off into each scar until every muscle tenses.
“We are the only ones out here. I like touching you.”
I feel my face heat as he takes off his glove. After he strips mine from my hand, we touch skin-to-skin for the first time. His skin is rough as if he has done work without protecting them. His flesh is warm and slowly I begin to thaw. I’m paralyzed as I watch him lift my fingers to his mouth. The angry voice living in my head yells at me to pull my hand away. It demands I tell a lie and say I don’t want his Grace to touch me.
My soul ignores my mind. The part of me I’ve hidden deep to avoid punishment wants to enjoy its time in the sun. His tongue swirls around my fingertips as if he’s enjoying his favorite dessert. Tremors wrack my body and my horse shifts beneath me, reacting to the tightening of my muscles. I feel lust flood my skin as I begin to understand the depth of my depravity. I want his mouth to take my prick instead of my fingers. I need his tongue to taste my seed instead of my sweat even though I’ve never been serviced like that before.
Greyson’s blue eyes darken and I know he’s reacting to the desire that must be burning in mine. I break my gaze from his face and glance lower. The large bulge between his thighs makes my shaft twitch and swell. I long to touch him.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, barely loud enough to hear over my pounding heart.
Releasing my fingers from his mouth, he asks, “Why not?”
“It’s wrong.” There’s certainty in my voice. My conviction had been beaten into me over the course of several years.
“Who says it is?”
His strong grip takes my hand and places it where I long for it to be the most. Without thought, I stroke him through his breeches. He groans.
“Society. The priests. They all whisper and call this perversion.”
I fear what society and the church can do to me, but the fear doesn’t stop me as I press my palm harder against him.
He rocks his hips and moves in counter-point to my strokes. His words come out in a harsh whisper.
“I married a woman I didn’t love and shared her bed until she gave me two sons. Then I turned from her, leaving her with a broken heart. I’ve done what society and the church says I should.” He stops and grabs my hand. Silence reigns until I meet his eyes.
“All doing my duty has brought me is pain and shame. I no longer care if I lose any of what they say is important. Honor to myself now means more. I can lose it all and not miss what my life was.”
Hoof beats float down the trail towards us. Greyson kisses my hand and then lets me go. Before he disappears into the morning mist, he gives me a sad smile and asks:
“What have you got to lose?”
