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196 pages

English

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Sweet Savage Blood is a story of undying love sweeping across time from the 19th century to the 21st century.

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Publié par	First Edition Design Publishing
Date de parution	21 mars 2012
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781937520724
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0300€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

SWEET SAVAGE BLOOD

The Complete Version
Part I: Reunion
Part II: Revelations
Part III: Blood Ties

By

Carolina Courtland
***DIGITAL EDITION***

Copyright © 2012 by Carolina Courtland

ISBN 978-1-937520-72-4
Published by First Edition Design eBook Publishing
March 2012
www.firsteditiondesignpublishing.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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PART I: REUNION
CHAPTER ONE

Alexandria, Virginia 1850
Dominique was sixteen, that fall of 1850, and the prospect of a new dress far outweighed any consequences from her papa's displeasure after he discovered she had gone into town without a proper escort. She leaned forward in the carriage and urged the driver to hurry as she made her hasty escape.
Usually, Dominique's black maid, Cicely, was her constant companion, but the maid had fallen victim to a sweating fever sweeping through the area and was unable to accompany her. It was the perfect excuse. Dominique was going into Alexandria's bustling town square to see the dressmaker—alone.
Why do I need a chaperone? Dominique thought rebelliously. I can take care of myself!
As she excitedly designed the sumptuous new gown in her mind, her only regret was that her mother was not alive to help pick out fabric and trimmings. Her mother had died giving birth to her, and Dominique had nothing to remember her by but a faded miniature painting in a small gold locket decorated with three small diamonds. She reached up to lovingly finger the locket she always wore.
Her papa had not remarried, and with no siblings, Dominique was put in charge of the household. This heavy responsibility at such a young age gave her an unusual sense of independence and confidence. She just knew she could handle anything that came her way.
When her carriage rolled past the Franklin and Armfield Office on Duke Street, Dominique peered out in curiousity. Known for being the largest slave trading firm in the south, F & A used Alexandria's ports to transport slaves to other cities, like New Orleans. The office itself was a nondescript three story house of grey brick but attached to it in the back was a prison where slaves were kept walled up in pens awaiting transport.
Leaning slightly out her window, Dominique watched as slaves of all ages were marched single-file down the street. A white overseer carrying a long bull whip was a constant reminder for them to keep moving and not to try make a run for it. Their faces were scared and drawn as they trudged toward an unknown future and Dominique felt a stab of sympathy for them. Ahead of her time, she didn't approve of slavery, and made a point of treating slaves with kindness.
When they reached the dress shop, the driver, Hamish, expertly stopped the pair of draft horses. Being fiercely independent, Dominique pushed the carriage door open for herself. Hamish knew well enough to leave her be. All the slaves on her family estate thought Miss Dominique was decent and fair, but she was also stubborn and headstrong. No one wanted to cross her.
Hamish jumped down from the driver's seat to search for supplies in another store across the street.
Before she emerged from the carriage, Dominique carefully retied the peach grosgrain ribbon under her neck in a big bow. She was pleased that the color of her hat exactly matched her melon and chocolate check patterned dress, which was specifically chosen to flatter her café au lait complexion.
Since her skirt was wide, she slid out of the half door with a bit of difficulty. It was the price one paid to be in style.
Shielding her eyes from the sun, she smiled as she looked up at the dressmaker's sign, which read " La Couturière." It sounded so Parisian, so glamorous, and filled with the promise that the clothes made within would be the height of fashion.
She slightly lifted the front of her round skirt and eagerly started toward the shop. Barely making it a couple of steps, she was stopped short with a jolt. Her wide hooped skirt was trapped on one of the large back carriage wheels. She was solidly stuck.
Mortified, she realized her undergarments were being exposed to the entire street by her skirt being hiked in the air. In desperation, she tugged at the recalcitrant skirt but nothing happened. She tried to turn around to investigate the problem more fully, but the combination of ruffles, hoops and her tight corset made that impossible. Half-turned, she strained as much as she could and tugged with all her strength, her face reddening at her predicament.
Out of nowhere, a deep, male voice from behind her drawled lazily, "Are you in need of some assistance, Miss?"
Startled, she whirled her head to see a handsome man in his twenties staring at her with an amused look on his face. Dressed like a dapper gentleman, his single-breasted long frock coat in dark blue was tightly tailored to fit him perfectly. He wore a fine white shirt under a buff-colored silk damask waistcoat and pressed grey trousers. Despite his expensive attire, he was leaning against the lamp post with his arms folded in front of him. To her extreme aggravation, he had not moved one inch to help her.
Her face flushed deeper as she snapped at the stranger, "If you would be so kind, sir, as to not stand there ogling a lady's petticoats and instead provide some much needed aid!"
Caden Hanover chuckled to himself at her sassy comeback, while admiring her gleaming flaxen curls, creamy cocoa-colored skin, full lips and flashing topaz eyes.
The young woman had such an unusual combination of skin, eye and hair color, he guessed she must be a mulatto or possibly an octoroon. She was certainly beautiful enough to be either.
He slowly sauntered toward her and tipped his top hat. "It would be my pleasure to oblige, miss. Why, it would make my day to come to the assistance of such a lovely damsel as you."
She tilted her head and glowered up at him from underneath the wide brim of her hat. She wasn't sure he was being sincere. He sounded rather sarcastic.
Caden studied what the young woman was wearing. It was genuinely puzzling. He had never seen a garment quite like it, layers of ruffled skirting covering what appeared to be a metal cage of progressively wider hoops. He smirked as his eyes danced over her exposed backside clad in a white chemise. He said tauntingly, "My my, what a pickle you seem to be in."
She replied, "Don't just stand there, sir. Do something, I implore you!"
As Caden stepped closer to the carriage, his eyes darted down the walkway and he exclaimed, "Oh look, our esteemed mayor and his lovely wife are headed this way for a chat!"
Horrified, she screeched, "What?" and craned her neck around in dread. The town's most important citizen was going to see her in this humiliating position! She furtively glanced down the walkway wincing in anticipation, and saw . . . no one. She looked back at the stranger who was now in a paroxysm of laughter at his little joke.
She narrowed her golden eyes at him in distaste, but held her tongue in check out of fear. She didn't want to chase him off and end up stuck to the carriage until Hamish returned.
Trying hard to keep a straight face, he said, "Can I ask you something personal, Miss?"
Affronted by his too-familiar-continental way, she exclaimed, "Sir, we hardly know each!"
"Allow me to introduce myself then. My name is Caden." He lifted his hat to her. Without any further fan fair he asked bluntly, "What kind of contraption are you wearing?"
Drawing herself up with some pride—as her aunt had recently brought the dress from France where hoops skirts were becoming all the rage—she explained, "This is the latest fashion from Europe. It's. . . "
". . . preposterous and impractical—as most ladies' garments are," he interrupted. "And, this one looks dangerous; why, you could take flight if the wind gusted up slightly."
Her eyes slit in fury and her mouth dropped open in shock at the rudeness. No true gentlemen would speak to a lady in such a manner!
After a quick examination, he realized the problem and reached over to release the bottom hoop off a notch on the large back wheel. As his muscular arm brushed against her, she felt a pleasurable thrill course through her. She quickly averted her eyes and turned her head down, lest the rogue read her thoughts.
Released, the skirt bounced right back down into place and he laughingly proclaimed, "You're free at last from the grasp of the dreaded lady-grabbing carriage."
She tossed her head in indignation at his mockery and gathered up the front of her skirt. As she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, she was unable to stop herself from noting how attractive he was. His perfect teeth were white, his eyes a sparkling green, and dimples formed on either side of his very . . . kissable lips.
She caught herself blushing again and forced herself to stop thinking such traitorous thoughts.
Mustering what was left of her dignity, she marched toward the dress shop. Caden rushed to open the door for her and held it with a mockingly chivalrous bow.
As she flounced past him, she tilted her chin up and, without looking at him, proc