An Untimely Romance: A Time Travel Romance Read online

  Table of Contents

  An Untimely | R o m a n c e

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  A Message from the Authors

  Acknowledgments

  An Untimely

  R o m a n c e

  Book 1

  J & L Wells

  Published by Nexgate Press

  Copyright

  All rights reserved. This work is the property of J & L Wells, and Nexgate Press. Any reproduction, sale, or transfer of the contents in any format such as print, ebook, audio, video, or any other means is strictly forbidden without the written consent of the publisher and authors. Any events, characterizations, or locations similar to actual incidents, people or places is strictly coincidental. Copyright J&L Wells, and Nexgate Press 2013 ©. First Edition.

  Written by J & L Wells

  Cover design by Regina Wamba.

  Edited by Sarah Cheeseman.

  Cover Photography by Adrian Brown.

  Cover Model, Heather Sue Edwards.

  ISBN-13: 978-1489517845

  ISBN-10: 1489517847

  Dedication

  In loving memory of Sheila Wells and Keith Walter Wells.

  Gone, but never forgotten.

  Chapter One

  Ye Olde England

  “Oh, Mr Boswel,” Anna sighed awkwardly, biting her bottom lip as he gazed seductively into her eyes.

  She placed her small-gloved hand into his and he smiled, but no words passed between them. The heady concerto played by the musicians faded into insignificance, the guests and all their formalities forgotten in the moment. He led her into an open hallway towards the larger of two grand staircases. She could hardly breathe. His dark-brown eyes were hypnotic and with every gaze they burned into hers. His jet-black hair fell in soft waves around his shoulders, while small curls drifted onto his forehead, which he had a habit of flicking back to reveal his face. And oh, what a face, with his chiselled jawline, high cheekbones and overly full lips, perfect traits complemented by a rich olive skin tone and pretty, near perfect complexion.

  Anna had waited so long for this moment. She felt her legs trembling beneath her, hoping upon hope that they wouldn’t give way. Upon reaching the first floor, guilt descended upon her. She knew what she was about to embark on was wrong and that she’d be judged, but on second glance down the stairs, across the hall and through the arched doorway, she saw that those in attendance at the masquerade ball danced on and drank merrily, oblivious to their departure.

  She wasn’t allowed to linger for long, as Mr Boswel’s firm grip pulled her slightly off balance and she stumbled wearily. Aware that the hour was late, her gaze wandered briefly before coming to rest on the ornate grandfather clock in its regal attire, situated equidistantly between the two staircases, both hands sitting comfortably on the number one. Mr Boswel’s eyes held a warm reassurance as he led her across the landing towards a large oak door.

  “After you, madam,” he gestured, opening the door.

  “Thank y’ sir,” she uttered nervously.

  Why me? Anna thought to herself as her conscience juggled with reality, still questioning why he had given her the time of day. With his good looks and his status, he really could have anybody he desired. On close inspection, Anna knew she was anything but beautiful; even as a child, her mother referred to her as plain. It wasn’t that she had a bad face, just not an overly pretty one; her eyes perhaps too small, their colour quite insignificant – somewhere between light blue and grey – and strawberry-blonde hair scraped back rather severely in a bun. There wasn’t anything dynamic about her features either; even her nose had a slight tilt to the left – a flaw nobody else would have picked up on.

  Then the door closed behind them and they were alone at last, away from unwanted roving eyes. It was a moment she’d longed for, for what seemed like an eternity.

  She found herself in a large bedchamber, a four-poster bed made from a deep rich wood taking centre stage, its precise carvings inlaid with gold leaf in large spirals. It was complemented by warm-red silk drapes – not quite scarlet, perhaps a shade or two deeper. The room exuded wealth, with its deep-mahogany furnishings, high walls and numerous gilt-edged portraits.

  Anna felt lost in her new surroundings.

  “Well, Anna...”

  She jumped, and her eyes were drawn once again towards the handsome Mr Boswel, who had already removed his shoes and was now reclined on the bed, propped up by two thick cotton bolsters. His long taupe waistcoat was draped untidily over a padded-back chair, and she watched tentatively as he started unbuttoning his linen shirt to reveal a toned physique.

  “Join me,” he murmured, his voice soft and inviting.

  Her heart was beating so heavily in her chest as she made her way over to the bed that she was sure he’d be able to hear. She was even tempted to hold her breath. He leaned his body forward towards hers as she sat nervously on the edge of the bed. She knew he was going to take her, and although she felt way out of her depth, she wanted him so very badly. He smelt so fine, his broad chest brushing against her arm; she could feel the soft hairs between his nipples, and then their hardness. She was burning inside as he ran his fingers longingly over her body. She felt his breath, then his lips, tenderly at first as they began caressing the nape of her neck, and then with an urgency, a hunger, the tenderness turned to lust. Their lips met for the first time and he pulled her body roughly onto his, quickly loosening the bodice of her gown and starting to untie the lacings of her corset...

  ~•••~

  “Anna,” he whispered, a husky lilt to his voice.

  “Mr Boswel...” were the only words to leave her lips as they lay lost in the moment, wrapped in each other’s arms.

  “Stay here with me tonight.”

  “Sir, I’ll be tellin’ y’, I’m betrothed to another,” Anna replied, shedding tears of guilt while darting around the room, recovering her garments.

  Mr Boswel sighed. “An unfortunate predicament in which you find yourself, my dear,” he said, lifting himself slightly and leaning the weight of his body on his elbows, looking at her earnestly while she dressed.

  “Mr Boswel, yer reputation precedes ye.”

  “Perhaps, Anna, but they are just empty conquests.”

  “All but one, sir.” Anna paused, awaiting his response, but the words she longed for were not forthcoming.

  “This I cannot deny, but I would be grateful if you were not to mention her name. She is now but a ghost from my past.”

  “I must take yer leave, sir. I’ll be missed.” Fear grew in her voice. “Mr Boswel, I ain’t gonna live a life with ye as me guilty secret.”

  “Well, Anna, that’s all I have to offer you. At this present time you must be patient... I...”

  Anna interrupted him before he could continue. “Please, sir, I beg of ye, say no more. I think it best I bid ye farewell.”

  With that, she walked out of the room and out of his life, sure that he was watching until she closed the door.

  Chapter Two

  The Present Day

  Heather opened the shutters of one of the large sash windows in the hallway and peered out onto the beautiful gardens. My own little Eden. At la
st this building is not just an ensemble of cold bricks, but a place filled with love and my future, she thought to herself as she watched the final scaffold tower being dismantled. Her patience with the four long years of workmen and disruption had worn thin, but now, instead of a building site, Freesdon Manor was starting to look and feel like home. She’d completed her home studies and had come away with eight good passes. She was still not quite sure where her working life was going to lead her, but for the time being she’d agreed to work in the coffee shop, situated in the large conservatory built on the east wing of the manor house, leading from one of the formal dining areas. Also, since the house would shortly be opened to the public, Heather had created a website and was taking bookings for group visits from local schools, and working on plenty of online marketing schemes. In fact, she was getting quite a dab hand at online sales pitches. Her dad paid her well, and all in all it was a win-win situation.

  Still daydreaming, she thought back to her arrival at Freesdon Manor as a young girl and her utter disdain for country life, and how almost jigsaw-like, piece by piece, her own experiences of the country had led to her feelings now being quite to the contrary.

  The big day was looming in more ways than one, as it was not only the manor’s grand opening, but also her eighteenth birthday celebration. She felt a sudden excitement at the thought, which ebbed into contentment at how her life was panning out; yet there was something not quite right, something missing. Whatever it was, though, she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. It certainly wasn’t something she felt able to discuss with her mum, since at this moment in time she wasn’t even sure what it was herself.

  Heather turned, startled from her daydreams.

  “Your father’s allocating jobs and working areas for all the new staff; you’ll be working in the shop with some new employees,” her mother’s voice piped up as she waltzed through the room, a blue tabard covering her floral dress.

  She had a kindly face, framed by a bob-style haircut that was the sort of blonde you’d find in a bottle, with grey roots that were in desperate need of a touch-up. She was fair-skinned and quite big-boned, but carried it well due to her height.

  “Why not go and show your face?” she continued, juggling two large vases filled with white canna lilies and deep pink roses. “Attention to detail ... the final touches are so important...”

  Heather heard her mum’s words fading as she hurried off towards the library on the ground floor, where the staff meeting was about to take place. She entered the spacious room, which was cool in temperature due to its position in the house. Dark wooden panelling covered the walls, while the floor-to-ceiling windows had open shutters at which hung rich-red drapes. On entering, the wall to the right was filled with open mahogany shelving containing vintage books, some of which dated as far back as the seventeenth century. No doubt this was the reason the room was filled with a fusty aroma. The high-back padded chairs matched the curtains perfectly.

  There must have been at least fifty new starters sitting in separate huddles, all handing in their personal details and filling in paperwork. Great, they’re already in their own little groups, Heather thought, sinking against the nearest wall and trying her best to look as inconspicuous as possible; but it was difficult in a room filled with eyes and strange faces, far too many for comfort. Fortunately for her, this discomfort was to be short-lived when her father entered the room, offering some much-needed familiarity. The muffled conversations immediately died down as heads turned.

  Perhaps it was his attire, or his persona; he certainly looked the part in his perfectly pressed grey suit, starched shirt and colour-coordinated tie.

  Clearing his throat, he addressed the room.

  “Thank you all for coming. I’d like to introduce myself ... I’m Walter Richardson,” he said, scanning the room, “the owner of Freesdon Manor. My wife Faye, who you probably passed on your way in, will be working alongside me. Anyway,” he grunted, “moving on. Just to make you all aware, as children will be visiting the premises I have sent for your CRBs, and on completion and after approval has been given – which should take approximately six to eight weeks – you’ll have the pleasure of working for me.” His voice was husky, yet authoritative. A slight smile brought warmth with it, lifting the awkwardness in the room.

  Heather chuckled inwardly at her father’s stern face and the way in which he portrayed himself. He wasn’t the easiest of people to read. His once dark hair was now greying, especially his sideburns, and the fringe – which he’d grown quite long – was brushed back into a rather unfashionable comb-over, kept in place with her mum’s hairspray, which he had a habit of using so much of, that it would flake and fall like dandruff onto the shoulders of his jacket, or whatever ensemble he had chosen to wear that particular day. His face was hard and lined, giving him an unapproachable look; probably as a result of all his years in business, and the contracts and men he’d had to organise. He certainly wasn’t the sort of man one would want to cross unnecessarily.

  He hadn’t picked up on the awkward tension he’d caused, and his final words requested that his future employees familiarise themselves with one another, and with that, he turned and left the room. Only moments later, her mother followed him.

  Feeling rather out of her depth and not used to being in the company of so many people, Heather looked around shyly for a friendly face. Without a seat, and standing near the far window, seemingly keeping himself to himself, stood a man. He looked a good few years her senior, but then she wasn’t very good with ages. Certainly a bit of alright, she thought. She must have unknowingly been staring at him, as his eyes met hers. She blushed immediately and looked at the floor, trying to escape his glare. When she looked up, she saw that he had moved away from the window and was now walking straight towards her. He was tall – probably around six foot five – with ash-blonde hair spiked with gel, pale skinned, full faced with a square jawline, and very unusual green eyes that held the brilliance of a peridot gemstone. He had a special something that drew Heather to him.

  “Well, we’ve been asked to introduce ourselves, so I’m Ruben, Ruben Brown. I’m managing the wine shop and cellar. There’s some good years, ya know; the owner invited me for a taster earlier, blew me away to be honest. Some bottles were covered in dust and cobwebs, so they must have been maturing down there for ages. Oh, but what a flavour and kick they had! Couldn’t drink more than a couple of glasses, especially not this time of day.”

  Oh my god, he’s gorgeous. Stay cool, stay cool, Heather, she thought. She could feel the palms of her hands perspiring and the acceleration of her heartbeat. His eyes seemed to be searching hers impatiently for a reply.

  “I’m Heather; the owner’s daughter.” Her voice was mouse-like, though she was trying so hard to sound confident as she passed him a business card.

  “Very professional,” he said, and winked as he slipped it into his pocket. “Better watch what I’m doing then, hadn’t I?” Ruben added with a cheeky grin, looking her up and down with great interest.

  Heather was unmistakably a beauty; around five foot six, of slim build with curves in perfect proportion, and rich brown locks that fell to her waist.

  “Well...” Heather replied, her crystal-blue eyes shining up into his, “better not make a habit of drinking on the job, then, had you?”

  “We’ll have to see about that of course. All in me job description, perks of the job, if ya like.” Ruben smiled as he leaned towards her and brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. Every word he spoke brought with it his warm breath, carrying the scent of the fruity cocktail of wine from earlier. “Maybe taking the owner’s daughter out is a perk I could add to my list.”

  “You really are cheeky, aren’t you?” Heather said, gaining slightly in confidence.

  She tilted her head to the side and gave her new acquaintance a more in-depth look. He was of slim build, although a few more muscles wouldn’t have gone amiss, but she liked the casual way he dressed in his gre
y sweat pants, revealing the top of his boxers, and a white vest top. He had a dark Celtic-style tattooed sleeve up his right arm and the outline on his left ready for filling in. A thick gold curb chain lay around his neck. A rugged look, yet one Heather found extremely appealing.

  “Is this how you’d normally dress for interviews and staff meetings?” she said, laughing.

  “Nah, already got the job, love. My dad met yours on the golf course, and as they say, it’s who you know, not what ya know, so the job’s a good’en. Well, nice to meet you, but people to see, and places to go... No doubt I’ll see you around. Oh, by the way, I hang out at the Sheep Inn in the village, the only decent pub around these parts. I’m there most nights, around seven... May see you there.” He winked.

  Her initial opinion of Ruben was somewhat of a double-edged sword – she was drawn to the intensity of his looks, yet felt reserved due to his mixed messages and passive responses. She wondered if she’d ever date a man like that; how he’d treat her, and how she’d treat him. With so little experience with boys, and having never been on a real date, she had no idea what to expect. Would he sweep her off her feet? Would he make her feel like a woman, speaking tender words of affirmation? What kind of man was he, this rugged-looking stranger? She tried to picture what her father looked like when he was young. She figured he’d have looked thinner, had more energy, smiled more, and probably bought her mother flowers whenever he had the chance. But those were just assumptions, silly imaginings of a young lady on the verge of adulthood – something she knew very little about.

  ~•••~

  A couple of hours later, Heather was waiting for the last few stragglers to leave. She then locked the manor’s front door from the inside and walked back towards the annex, their living quarters. The rooms were not huge, but comfortable.

  Her mind was working overtime as she entered through the double glass doors into the dining room, where her mum was laying plates and cutlery on a small oblong table. Ruben was now at the top of Heather’s agenda, and she was frustrated by her mum and dad’s attempts to drag her into a rather long, drawn-out conversation about the day’s events as they sat down for dinner. She wasn’t the slightest bit hungry or interested in the manor’s grand opening, with all its hype and distinctive guests. She thought it had become more of an obsession, and was beginning to feel overlooked, almost as if her parents didn’t care about her any more.