Setting myself a challenge Day 5 – Mills and Boon

For 4 years of my life I worked in a very large public library. Working there I was often amazed at how popular the Mills and Boon section of the library was. Every morning prim and proper OAP ladies would return handfuls of books and then beetle off to the back of the library in the quest for any new editions. One lady, Mrs Hubbard would search me out “Have you any new Mills and Boon?” she’d say “I’ve read most of these more than once”.  Intrigued at the fascination these ladies had for these romances I read a few and felt stunned at the explicitness of their more racy chapters. So how hard can it be to write a romance? Here goes…

He was her battery, he was ever-ready!  By Wessex Reiver

Chapter one: The first meeting

The wind howled around the high fells. Winter was coming there was a definite chill in the air, the first menacing fingers of cold raced down the hills to meet her. Copper tinted leaves billowed through the air, a reminder of the summer just past. Ethel feeling the cold envelop her wrapped her coat around herself as she began her solitary walk back from the chiropractor where she’d been for her annual vertebral transverse process check up. Grey foreboding clouds scudded across the sky, it was getting dark, she wanted to be home and in the arms of a strong man.

Trevor her husband of 20 years was a good man, but he wasn’t a strong man. Years spent curding cheese had taken its toll on his body. With hands like meat plates and a back bent like a banana Ethel did love her husband but she felt sometimes at a loss to know which way to look into his rheumy glass eye. He would not be at home tonight or able to meet her at the station due to an important meeting of the Langwathy Major Ferret Society at the Aubergine Hotel and Health Spa 10 miles away. Too many times had she walked alone back to their bleak house perched on the remote fell.

As she walked Ethel pondered on her life. How had she come to be in such a loveless marriage she thought, as the first flakes of icy sleet began to fall? The sleet was becoming a lot heavier now; the sky had turned an inky black which matched her now dark and brooding mood. Searching in her pocket she found her torch, flicked the switch and watched the feeble beam flicker and die.

“Drat” she said “the batteries have died, that’s typical of my husband he promised to replace them last week and now look, I’m alone in this Godforsaken world without a light to guide my way, this is a symbol that all my energy to maintain the sham of our marriage is over”.

Pulling her coat even tighter around her she walked on into the gathering gloom and recalled the first time she’d walked the fells, many years before as a new bride....

…. In the distance a feint glow appeared; Ethel was mesmerised by this illumination. What was it? She was taken aback dawn was beginning to break. Had she been walking for that long? Unable to sleep because of the impending gas bill she had dressed and quietly left the cottage on a sweet April night to walk the fells in the moonlight. Unseen animals scampered around her and the soft sweet scent of a new spring day filled her senses with joy. Now, to the east, the first glow of the day ahead split the horizon from the ink black sky above. She felt alive.

And then she saw him, a lone rider on the hill. His horse oozed controlled passion; his riding cape now illuminated by the gathering light billowed as he galloped across the skyline, the first rays of sunlight shone off his stirrups. He saw her and expertly turning his horse he rode down the fell towards her. She felt that pleasure of nauseous exhilaration she’d last experienced as a teenager while at the back of the Co-Op in Nempnett Thrubwell with the first love, Oliver.  Or at least that was the name he used before he took her dividend and disappeared from her life forever.

The rider was closer now, she could feel the earth pounding as he galloped towards her, the scent of horse and rider overpowered her senses and she felt unable to walk further. Her legs had become immovable objects such was the power of her emotion as he sped towards her, other sensations tingled her with pleasure. Closer, closer, she could feel her heart quickening, pounding like a steam train, closer, closer on the horse came carrying its masculine charge towards her.

He kept coming, riding hard, riding fast, riding towards her, she wanted to ride with him too and she wanted to share his passion. Her knees buckled, the world closed in, her senses heightened; on, on he came, that felt good, he kept coming, coming towards her and at speed. Now braced against a tree she could feel the power in this rider as he reared up his horse just feet from her and dismounted in one fluid rippling movement. He strode towards her, his muscular body glistened with the exhilaration of the ride, veins on the side of his head throbbed, she throbbed too. They met by the tree, she braced herself, gripping the rough hard trunk to steady herself and met his gaze, his piercing blue eyes melted her heart, waves of desire rushed down her body, she was consumed with passion, she glowed with anticipation. He moved closer. She felt the warmth of his body caress her cheek, as he whispered to her.

“Am I on the right road for Torquay? I need to be there by 9am as I’ve got to meet my lovely friend Gary at Budleigh Salterton, he’s expecting me. My name’s Neville by the way very pleased to meet you. I like your hat, very fetching such a lovely shade of purple in this light”