Affairs of the Heart (Temporarily on hold for publication of Beloved Beast)

Prologue

All Rights Reserved © 2015 Emmy Alexander

No part of this book may be reproduced, copied or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission of the writer.

          Clara Massey ran as if the devil himself trailed her skirts. She felt sharpened pebbles, embedded in the terrain, stab unmercifully into her slippered soles, but she pressed onward in spite of their fleeting twinges.    

          Naught mattered in that moment but escaping him!

          He mustn't catch me! She exclaimed inwardly, her chest afire as she dodged a bended branch, shoving frantically at the dense shrubbery that threatened to thwart her escape.

          The sudden crashing of his pursuit from behind propelled her into an aimless flight, and in doing so, her ribbon unraveled and her hair tumbled free, entangling about the finger-like limbs as if to hold her captive for his seizing.   

          Clara struggled strenuously within those warped limbs, hysteria forcing tears to rise, and in her desperation to flee, she heard the ominous sound of a rip and tear. Her heart wrenched as she froze, her flight promptly forgotten, as her eyes accessed the damage.    

          Tears welled uncontrollably in her eyes as she ran her hands over her dirtied, torn skirts. Her dress was ripped. How many of her beautiful dresses had he ruined thus far? How many ribbons had she lost in his pursuit of taunting her? She glanced down at her feet, sniffling, somewhat relieved to discover both slippers perfectly intact, recalling countless pairs lost to this very forest.   

          Even now, she could recall her father's last chiding, having presented him with a torn hem sodden with mud.   

          If you insist on playing like a lad, mayhap we should dress you as such! He had muttered angrily.

          Clara spun around, her hands fisting at her sides as she braced for his attack.   

          And suddenly he was there, her tormentor, the boy that sought every waking hour to taunt, ridicule and insult her.    

          He halted at the sight of her, his eyes the color of blue rime, surveyed her suspiciously with wry humor. "Giving up so easily, brat?"    

          Her fists tightened, her eyes spitting daggers, as she fixed him with a lasting gleam of anger. "Curse you, Jonathan Devereux!" her face reddened with mortification as tears trickled from beneath her lashes to rest on the arc of her cheeks.

          For a moment, she witnessed a transient glint of admiration in those icy blue eyes, before something akin to sarcasm took residence, "Now, that is no talk for a little lady." He taunted, "What would your papa think?"   

          He crossed to her, grinning triumphantly as though he had bested her once again; her brows furrowed, unsure as to how he had conquered this round, until he raised a fist to the air, unraveling his fingers to disclose his prize.   

          There, suspended within the snare of his fingers, was her ribbon, one of so many lost to Jon Devereux.

          "Give it back!" she exclaimed, making a clumsy grab for it.   

          He easily wrenched it out of reach, chuckling under his breath, as he dangled it helplessly above her head. "If you can snatch it from my fingers, you may reclaim it." He teased, his mouth broadening into a smug grin.