Forget the Past
Author
Elise C. Davies
Reads
122K
Chapters
58
Elsbeth wakes with no memory and a stranger insisting he’s the only one she can trust. Erich, sharp-tongued and wounded by his past, thinks using her lost memories will keep his heart protected, but the plan unravels the moment their spark refuses to stay quiet. She challenges him, softens him, and makes him want more than his own defenses allow. As her past creeps closer and his guilt grows heavier, their connection twists into something neither of them can name without feeling a little scared—and a lot tempted. Now, Elsbeth must uncover who she was, while Erich must decide who he’s willing to become if he wants to keep her.
Chapter 1
“Damned fucking women!” the man raged, his tone tense, his body coiled. He raised his face to the heavens. “Why did you even bother? They are worthless!”
As if God himself replied, a dark, swirling cloud overhead intensified. Winds picked up, coming in off the ocean’s surface with fearful intensity, sending the man’s long black cloak flying out behind his sturdy body.
An ominous crack of lightning sizzled the air, streaking the entire length of the night sky.
Erich Richter stood his ground, his massive fists clenching at his sides, his leather boots digging into the sand of the beach he stalked. There was a menacing aura about the man. A determined set to his brow and mouth.
“What have I done to bring such animosity? Do I not have enough on my plate?” The rant continued unabated. Erich stepped, facing his adversary squarely. Never mind that the deity he berated could squash him like a minuscule insect were it of a mind.
“I have tried to do all I could to measure up to my responsibilities.” The man’s mind was full of turmoil and strife. “Even against my own wishes and needs. You know this!”
Another brilliant flash of light sparked in the sky, arcing in hundreds of unique patterns, searing the water with its intensity.
Erich ignored the warnings, knowing he was committing blasphemy. He was not a religious man, but he was a very spiritual one. At that moment, he cared not.
“What more do you want of me!”
His heart raged against the injustices life could bestow. A powerful gust off the ocean moved the man back forcefully, causing him to stumble and lose his footing. He went down hard into the warm sand.
Cursing profanely, he turned, intending to rise, but something caught his attention. A slight movement in his peripheral vision jerked his head to the right.
Erich blinked, uncertain if he should trust his eyes, for the lightning had played havoc with his sight. A small silhouette lay sprawled out at the base of the high cliff beside which he knelt.
Staring, the man could not believe what he was seeing.
Hastily glancing about the area, for the sea grass was high in this isolated spot, his first instincts told him perhaps this was some sort of trap.
He reached for his walking cane, which had fallen from his hands upon impact into the sand. The stick contained a razor-sharp blade within. The man always carried a percussion cap pistol upon his person, but the silence stretched on.
Curiosity got the better of him, so he slowly approached. The female was petite; her alabaster flesh almost translucent in the haze of a full moon. Erich stooped, his knee indenting the sand next to the slight form.
Her clothes, which were clearly of inferior quality, were dirty and smudged. She wore a rough-hewn wool skirt of a dark color. Her white chemise’s hem lay haphazardly on a shapely thigh, but her stockings covered what modesty insisted.
Moving the long blonde strands from her face allowed the appearance of bloodied scrapes and a swollen right temple. A small whimper escaped her throat.
Her clothing was damp, as was her hair. There was a light rain this morning. Had she been here all this time?
Examining the cliff above, he wondered why no one had come to her aid. She was in plain sight from the ridgeline up there.
Perhaps someone pushed her off.
For some odd reason, he laughed hollowly, then scowled darkly. What the fuck was that?
This woman wasn’t Tessa. Should he judge all women now on one’s stupidity?
Oh, hell, why not? The thought soothed. He dismissed it with a smile.
The man shook such inconsequential thoughts.
He sat back musingly. “And what am I to do with this?” He spread his hands over the mess before him. “She is a complete stranger to me!” His anger returned. “Why have you brought me to this point? Now I am to interrupt my life further because of one of your humanitarian whims.”
The stillness continued with nothing but the rustling of the grasses and the swish of the wind.
Erich downed his head. “Give me some peace, can you not?” he muttered dejectedly. “I swear this to you. I am at my breaking point. I have had it! I wish for no more!” he bellowed his resolve.
Stillness answered back. The man rubbed tired hands over his face, shaking a woeful head.
“You never listen.” He sighed wearily but hefted the small body onto his shoulder, making his way through the winding patch of lane, back the way he came. “I do not even know why I bother believing in such an impossible notion as you are turning out to be.”
Her weight, while not taxing in the least, pissed him off royally. That he had to bother at all in his present mood?
“This cannot be happening to me.” He clenched his teeth, closing his eyes to the reality of his new situation. “It simply…cannot.”
***
Twenty minutes later, stepping through the door of his cottage, Erich placed his burden onto the small divan. The man’s great stamina prevented him from being winded or breathing hard.
He stared morosely down at the peaceful face, then crossed to the hearth, stirring the embers to life. In minutes, the room was warm and welcoming.
Putting the kettle on the fire, the man went about gathering the supplies he would need, a continual scowl on the virile features. He mumbled dejectedly, cursing his lot in life for the simple fact it made him feel better somehow.
Minutes later found him cleansing the blood, appraising the damage, and estimating the time of recovery that he could turn this problem over to someone more capable and willing. He slowly, meticulously undressed her, for wet clothing meant she might catch her death if not warmed and bundled immediately.
He was male enough, even in his present mood and mindset, to notice how full and lovely her breasts were. Pale white flesh, with amber nipples, now puckered with cold and rather inviting to gaze upon.
The man rolled his eyes, pissed he noted her at all. He had undressed women before, after all. This was not something that should arouse or stimulate.
This was merely a necessity.
If her illness increased, her recovery time would increase, which was the last thing he wanted.
Placing her chemise aside, he quickly discarded her blue apron as well. Her hips were slender, her stomach flat and toned. Her legs and calves, sculptured.
Removing her drawers revealed a light patch of soft fluff between her legs. Her vaginal area showed gentle swelling and puffiness around the pink lips.
Erich pulled his interest elsewhere, pissed off even more that he found himself reacting as a man. He dismissed such inklings readily, expelling an annoyed breath.
Her stockings were loose, too large for a woman her size, so they slipped off with little effort. He sat her boots by the fire. Her feet were ridiculously small and cold as ice.
He put a pair of his wool socks on those tiny appendages, rubbing some life back into them with vigorous massage. The woman rebelled, moaning softly.
Dark bruises and nasty gashes suggested rocks or brambles tore at her flesh.
She was shivering visibly, so he covered her with a soft fur throw. His mind conjured up reasons how she came to be in such a predicament.
Did it even matter? He could get her up and around in perhaps a day or two. She was getting warm; he would get some broth inside her soon, some water.
Then it would end.
The man sat in the quiet of the room, reflecting on this and that, as was his way of late. He stared morosely at the injured female in the huge bed, wondering if he should chance a ride into the village to bring a physician.
Erich knew of medical things. Some wounds, his time in the regiment taught him how to suture, clean, and disinfect. Any soldier worth his weight knew such basic things.
It appeared this female had only one serious affliction.
He rose, going to fetch himself a cup of tea. He put some strong spirits into the mellow blend, of course. It was bracing, which cleared his head.
Leaving her alone did not sit well, however. Not at all.
She had a fever. She alternated between chills and flushed features.
It was going to be a long night. The man wiped his hands across his face, shaking the doldrums from his head.
He felt a sort of animosity toward this young woman he really did not even know.
There was a reason…
Tessa had turned him against women in general with her lying ways. Her supposed intellect, a contrived and practiced drill on how to attract a male, had also been a lie.
That she was beautiful and charming, no man could deny. He found out later, after the debacle that was their courtship, her reputation preceded her. Having returned to his staunch friends, they issued warning after warning, all of which he ignored, of course.
A very polite way of saying Tessa Saint-Claire was a whore who lived well off her body and charm.
Tessa Saint-Claire was the epitome of what Erich always thought he wanted in a female. From their first meeting, he was interested. A rarity for the man in itself.
Having many responsibilities with running an estate the size of Shadowmere, he had little time for anything else. The relationship blossomed, and for many weeks, Erich was smitten with the entrancing Mademoiselle Saint-Claire.
Thinking back on his own stupidity only heightened his fury, so the man turned his thoughts to his present dilemma.
The woman stirred.
