Jillian Chantal

This week, the writers of Tuesday Tales are writing to the word prompt . I am still working on my Regency set story and I bet you thought I’d use rake as a noun with a reference to a dissolute person and I did use one of the definitions of rake (libertine) in my tale, but I used the past tense verb of raked as it fit better where I am in the story. In my mind, a Regency is a wealthy reprobate. The man in this snippet is a sailor.

Anyway, check out the other tales here.

Distracted by the events that just occurred, Jane didn’t pay as much attention to her surroundings as she walked on toward her rooms. She was more focused on where the man actually lived and why she had not seen him before than on the road ahead of her or behind her.

When her arm was grabbed, her heart leapt in her chest in terror and she whirled around. Her glance raked over the man, taking in his face, and realizing it was Johnny from the alehouse, she dropped the flowers and stomped on his foot. “Let me go, you libertine.” She shook her arm to try to free it from his grasp.

“Not until I get what I want. You’ve been teasing me for months, flouncing around the pub and swishing yer skirts, all the time sayin’ ye be spoken fer and yet, the man you claim is your man is never around now, is he? Just give in and let me make you happy.”

Jane attempted to tug herself away from the man, trampling on the wilted flowers as she did so, almost losing her balance in the process. “Even if the captain never comes back to England, I will never be the woman for you. I do not like you and you need to let me loose right now.”

Johnny leered in her face, his rancid breath of stale beer and dirty teeth overwhelming her. “You seem to think ye have a choice her, missy. I’m a fine seaman who can climb a mast with the best of them.” He flexed his free arm. “See my muscles? I could squeeze the life out of you.”

She gasped. An ice cold dread flowed over her. Was dying better than having him force himself on her? Yes. I will never let anyone do that to me again. Never.

Jane redoubled her efforts to get away from him and decided to make some noise. Even if no one came to her aid, maybe he would run away. She resisted his embrace and opened her mouth the scream but he clamped his hand over her mouth. His nasty, clammy, disgustingly dirty hand. She gagged against its stench.

“You need to calm yerself. You’re going to be mine. Here in the street or at your home. It’s up to you, but you have no choice here.”

Footsteps rang out on the cobblestones. Running footsteps. A savior?