BEYOND THE NATURAL || Victorian Romance
- Reads 1,072
- Votes 60
- Parts 19
Ongoing1h 54m
Last published Tue, May 10, 2022
London, 1857. Tea merchant Sir Brooks grew strong feelings for the reckless soldier and lady in disguise Miss Taylor and yet, lustful whims of the élite and thirst for blood hindered his tender affection, jeopardizing the lives of the ones he loved. Furthermore, a mutiny found its roots in the colony of India due to foreign influence and social injustices. Will their lives still be interlaced?
A new intriguing view of England's history between west and exotic east will tell the story of selfless love and a sabotage. Anyone can be bold regardless of their gender.
Dear ladies and gentlemen, you'll never believe my discovery! A little birdie told me one of the most loyal servants Her Majesty has ever had was, indeed, a sergeant of the British army, a woman whose courage was as illustrious as the boldness which would have burgeoned in a man! A revolt took place in India - where tea and spices were traded with the West - to demand justice and the East India Company was slowly losing its control over those territories. What do you think it would have happened if our sergeant had stolen the heart of a young tea merchant? Will the Empire's wealth and safety still be guaranteed?
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"Humpe vishvaas karti hai aap?" He asked, his voice deep, touched with something possessive, something intimate. (Do you trust me?) His fingers found the lace at her back, toying with it slowly. His eyes never left hers-watchful, patient. It wasn't just about trust. It was a question laced with heat, with meaning. There was a pause. Not of doubt, but of weight. Then her lips curved in a quiet smile, soft as a petal opening to dawn. "Khudse bhi adhik." (More than myself.) That was all he needed. He lifted her without a word-her giggle light, her bangles chiming. Her ghagra fluttered as he carried her inside. The bed waited, simple and quiet. He laid her down like a prayer, eyes never leaving hers. Their lips met-slow, aching. Her fingers undressed him. Clothes fell. Skin met skin. Under the sheet, he moved with her-gentle, deep, worshipful. She gasped, clung to him, whispered his name. One rhythm. One afternoon. One unspoken truth.
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