The Purple Tulip by Noemi Betancourt (10 best novels of all time TXT) 📕

PITCH

On a Caribbean island in the 17th century, Chantilly St. James must thrown into a volcano to save her people from the violent storms that threaten San Philippe. However, the pirates that invade the island have another idea and whisk her away with their spoils. Can the dangerously sexy pirate and plantation heir, Vaughan Seabrooke, rescue her and convince her he loves her before she’s claimed by the volcano?

In this parody of the romance genre, readers are invited to journey with our bulging hero and our waiflike heroine as they battle the forces of evil to be together while fighting their own throbbing, pulsating turgid lusts.  

The usually brilliant jewel of the Caribbean had been lashed by a vicious hurricane. The serene populace of San Philippe sobbed as they helped dig out their neighbors and salvage what was left of their homes. The majestic homes of the aristocracy fared better though not by much and Chantilly St. James now mourned the loss of her mother, who had pushed her out of the path of a falling chandelier and was crushed. Chantilly was the most beautiful and docile creature on the whole island. Her long chartreuse locks shimmered like gold in the sun. Her pert nose sniffled and ruby lips trembled as tears fell from a pair of blueberry eyes and glided down skin that was the purest oyster. Chantilly knelt in a pew of the half demolished church, a simple lace veil adorning her head, as she prayed and thought about her mother.

The woman was a servant of the Weystone family as her mother had been before her and her mother before her. St. James women were all lovely, delicate and virtuous which always proved to be highly attractive to the dukes, counts and marquis who had been disgraced in their respective countries and fled to San Philippe. Before long, being wooed, bedded and eventually abandoned by these rogues had become a time honored family tradition. Only once had anyone been banished for disgracing the family. Chantilly’s cousin, Rosalie, had recently been foolish enough to be wooed, bedded and abandoned by a rakish shoemaker. She ended up flinging herself into the sea thus restoring order in the family.

As Chantilly left the church she could hear the peal of bells calling a town meeting. A robust gentlemen, Governor Samuel Weystone, was helped on to a platform as the people gathered below. Chantilly had often felt the gaze of her employer’s cobalt eyes travelling along her slender frame and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she joined the ranks of the St. James women before her. However, she wasn’t interested in being a kept woman thrown aside once the duke grew tired of his plaything. She wanted to be loved and for a time she understood Rosalie’s motivation for choosing the shoemaker, before he abandoned her and she threw herself into the sea. She vowed then and there she would only give herself to a man who loved her. Still, these were unpopular thoughts she kept from her family.

The governor slid his meaty fingers through his dark, slicked back hair and smoothed his mustache before gesturing for quiet from the crowd. Peasants like herself, in their brightly colored gowns and trousers, gathered close to the platform while the wealthier citizens in their refined muted garb hung back away from the riff raff. Large stovepipe hats and umbrellas shielded them from the harsh rays of the sun.

 “Citizens of San Philippe,” Governor Weystone began, “We have suffered many losses in recent days and it will take time and cooperation to restore our lives to normal. This has been the first hurricane to strike the island in 300 years, as I understand it, and I have consulted with native shamans as well as our own Father Vincent and together we have devised a solution to keep our beloved home protected for another 300 years. In order to appease those who watch over us, upon the rise of the next full moon we must fling the most impoverished virginal wench into the volcano!

Chantilly’s eyes narrowed as murmurs rose from the crowd, who turned their eyes to her. Samuel Weystone was not the only man whose advances she had spurned in recent months. Xixus, head shaman who looked as if he’d been etched from stone with a heart to match, had asked for her hand six months earlier much to the revulsion of her mother and grandmother and Father Vincent had actually accosted her in the rectory after comforting her over the loss of her mother. The convenience of doing away with her to save her people canceled out any wonder in her mind as to why a God fearing populace would suddenly take up native traditions.

Text: Miranda Johnson
Publication Date: 05-25-2013

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
This chapter has been drawn up for the First Look Forum of Serious Writers