My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(36)
“Is all well, my darling?” Lady Evangeline pulls away, her mouth trembling and luscious, her hair tumbling and free.
“I am more well than I have ever been,” you respond, kissing her of your own accord. It feels like riding a horse for the first time, or like taking that fiery first-ever sip of wine. Like learning a language. Like something new and strange that you want forever. It feels like blissful freedom. You dare to reach out for a lock of her perfect, silken, golden curls and twine it around your wrist.
“I am tied to you,” you whisper, bringing the tendril to your nostril and breathing deeply the scent. “You smell like adventure.”
Lady Evangeline pulls you in for another kiss. “You speak in verse,” she laughs. “You are lucky I am as much a scholar of poetry as I am of ancient Egypt.”
“I am lucky,” you say. You take her hands in yours before tracing them down your sides. “You are also a scholar of love. I am inexperienced in many ways of this world. I need someone to teach me…everything.” Pressing her hands under yours, you slowly inch your ragged and desert-torn skirts up and over your shapely legs. Lady Evangeline shivers at the sight of your flesh. Bare skin on bare skin tingles.
“You are already a poor pupil. The least clever student would know it is pure scandal for man or woman alike to see even a lady’s bare ankles in public.” Lady Evangeline’s voice is low and husky with desire.
“How would you teach a wayward student intent on showing her bare thighs?” Now it is you shuddering in delight as you lift your skirts and watch as Lady Evangeline dips her lovely head to meet your spread legs with an ardent, educated, and fluent tongue.
“I have wanted this for so long,” she whispers after what could be minutes or hours of silken, shivering stimulation.
“I did not know how long I have wanted this,” you whisper back as you arch your back and release yourself from the lips of love. “Let me show you now, my lady, all I have learned—so far.”
You ease Lady Evangeline back, over a stack of camping supplies, and burn with desert heat with her every cry of pleasure.
Afterward, as you lie breathless in each other’s arms, you hear a distant rumble.
Venturing out into the bright sunshine, you are astonished to see a great tower rising from the sand, laden with exquisite carvings from every angle. The lost Temple of Hathor!
You gaze in triumph. Your love’s true happiness has managed to raise a mythic temple into this, the modern age! Leaning your head on Lady Evangeline’s shoulder, you sigh with happiness.
“Where to next, my darling?” she asks, a playful smile dancing about those full pink lips. Remembering where those lips were but a minute before, you cannot help but blush. “We do have a whole temple to excavate.”
The magnificent structure stands proudly in the desert, beautiful and powerful as Hathor herself.
“Kamal will be happy.”
Lady Evangeline kisses you gently, and the very gesture nearly makes you swoon. “He will be,” she agrees. “On the other hand, Damilola did suggest that we follow her merry band on a few more adventures before we study the lost—now found—Temple of Hathor. She thinks we may turn out to be useful. And I must confess, it does sound like fun.”
What will it be?
Do you decide to live a life of daredevilry with the fiercest of battle maidens—and the woman you love? Then turn to this page.
Or do you take a break from life-threatening situations in favor of a less perilous—but no less exciting—existence? Do you prefer to uncover ancient treasures in the temple, and beyond, with the love of your life? If so, turn to this page.
You race back to the castle. It is late, and the orphans are all tucked in bed in the Great Hall. However, Mrs. Ferguson, Jane, and Gertie should still be awake. You call out for them but are answered by eerie silence.
“Something is not right,” Ollie says, and he pulls out his pistol again. He motions to you and Mac, and you fall in behind them. Silently, you creep into the kitchen and find Mrs. Ferguson and Jane slumped facedown on the table. A couple glasses filled with blood-red wine stand next to them.
Ollie sniffs the contents and nods to you and Mac. “Drugged.” In the darkness, Mac takes your hand and squeezes it reassuringly. The gesture calms you somewhat, but a chill goes down your spine. Where is Gertie? And what has Abercrombie done with her?
As you venture upstairs, a single light shines from Abercrombie’s study. Ollie readies his pistol and Mac pulls out a vicious-looking dirk from the waistband of his kilt. You grab a poker from an abandoned fireplace nearby, and the three of you rush in…
…and stop dead in your tracks. You clutch Mac. There, slumped in his chair, is Abercrombie. His eyes stare glassily at the ceiling. His throat has been slit.
“But…how?” Ollie asks. Mac envelops you in a comforting embrace and shakes his head.
“I dinnae ken…,” he whispers, tears welling in his eyes.
You hear a whimper behind you. Startled, you spin around, poker at the ready, only to see little Timmy huddled in the corner with the ever-loyal Dodger.
“Oh, miss!” he sobs, hugging Dodger close.
“Timmy!” you cry, dropping the poker and rushing to comfort the child. He throws his arms around you, sobbing hot tears into your shoulder and clinging to you tightly.