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."
