Finally finishing up this series its been a long wait. Sorry for forgetting to put my contact info.
Email- [email protected]
I’m looking for an assistant apply by emailing.


Chapter 2 — The Choice.

Brant Everard was six months younger than I. I haven’t seen him for years, but I remember him very clearly. He was tall, slender as a willow, and fair skinned. He wore his dark hair in ringlets and favored lacy collars and cuffs. With a simple handshake between my stepfather and his father, our engagement was arranged.

I was livid, but my opinion was of no consequence. The marriage was to end a century long feud between the two houses. Even Andrew protested the matter, perhaps from a sense of possessiveness rather than that of affection. Besides, if I moved to the Everard estate he’d have to go back to paying the chambermaid.

His complaints carried no more weight than mine. As the youngest son, he had little more say in matters than I did. I was to marry Brant Everard and that was that. “Pity that Brand Everard ran off like he did,” said Andrew wistfully. “Now he was a man worth allying with. Not like that young pup that’s stepped into his birthright.”

I’d never met Brant’s older brother, but I’d heard his story. Hot headed, passionate, known for being a bit rough around the edges, his primary occupation was apparently deflowering the peasant girls on his father’s estate. It was when he began on the women on the neighbor’s property that Duke Everard had put his foot down. There had been a spectacular argument, in which Brand had left home, never to be seen again. There was a rumor that he’d gone to sea, but no one really knew for sure.

The illicit relationship between Andrew and I only became more heated after my engagement. It was my way of getting back at my stepfather and Brant. It amused me to sit across from Brant and think, “Guess where your fiancée’s mouth has just been?”
“More cream, Georgette?” asked Andrew.

“Yes please. You know how I adore cream.” I answered with a catlike smile that Brant didn’t catch.

Andrew almost choked as he poured the thick white liquid into my cup. I watched it swirl for a moment and then commented on the superfluous lace spilling from Brant’s cuffs. “I have a dress made with that same lace.”

“Do you? It’s very good quality.” Brant, not being overly perceptive, did not pick up the implied insult to his manhood.

“Want some cream, Brant?” asked Andrew, his face very red with suppressed amusement.
“Yes thank you.”

And so the days went by. When Andrew and I weren’t having tea with Brant and baiting him into making a fool of himself, we were sneaking off into some remote corner of the property so I could suck him off. I’m not proud of it, but my forced engagement to Brant brought out the she-demon in me.

The night of my engagement party found me in something close to a rage. It was a warm summer evening and the air was heavy with the cloying scent of jasmine, assorted perfumes, and the sweat tang of hundreds of dancers. Brant was capering around the ballroom, trailing more lace than even I had on. Telling everyone felt ill, I excused myself for the evening. It was partly true, since Brant’s presence usually did make me quite sick to my stomach.

I wandered up to the observation tower to cool off.