The Moon Singer Book 4
Genre: Historical Romantic Fantasy Adventure
From 18th Century France to 20th Century San Francisco, the Promise of the Rose Crystal both empowered and mystified Grace Moreau and her daughter Rose Wyndham.
They fought for women’s rights, suffered prejudice and conspiracy theorists, and blazed their way through a male-dominated world to define their own roles in society. Through it all they poignantly resisted romantic desire, for if they fell in love the power of the Rose Crystal would be impotent and they - and their lovers - would die.
A romantic adventure spanning 250 years, B. Roman's 'The Immortal Rose Wyndham' is a story where the power of music, and the belief in a purpose greater than oneself, provide the mystery and magic that creates miracles.
**The Immortal Rose Wyndham: The Beginning can be read as a standalone and/or prequel to the rest of the books in the series.
Excerpt
The Alien
Grace’s body tensed up and she snapped to full alert, withdrawing her hand cautiously. “Come with you? To America? That is a dream I do not share, Percy. I have my life here, my business.”
“A life that is lonely from what I can see. Max Gaither mostly runs your business these days. You can open a new boutique in America.”
“Catering to Indian tribes and Spanish settlers? They do not share my fashion sense or style.”
Percy laughed lightly at her sarcasm. “And who better to enlighten them than Mademoiselle Gabrielle? Besides, the settlers there are more sophisticated than you might think.”
Grace drew herself up to full height and apologized to Percy for her hasty departure. “I am flattered at your proposal, but I must decline.”
Percy stood and tried to keep her from leaving. “Please Grace,” he beseeched and firmly grasped her arms. “Please don’t leave. Or go with me someplace private so we can talk.”
Grace maneuvered away from his grip, slightly frightened but mostly flustered. She strode quickly from the shop and hurried to her apartment. This state of confusion and agitation was new to her.
She had always been in control of her emotions, even when near Marcel. Despite her thoughts and musings, she had managed to maintain an equilibrium that the Rose Crystal gave her. Percy conveyed an element of menace that unnerved her and sent up cautionary flags.
Struggling to retain her inner calm, Grace played one of her favorite Mozart Sonatas, and repeated Marcel’s name quietly as her personal mantra of strength. Soon, the palpations in her heart quieted, her hands no longer shook, and she lost herself in a musical out-of-body experience that led to a desperately-needed dream-filled slumber.
Drifting off, Grace imagined what life would be like sharing a bed with Marcel, his bright blue eyes gazing upon her with adoration. His smooth hand with delicate fingers would find its way to the ribbon holding her bed gown closed, untie it in a gentle revealing of virgin flesh that had never known a sensual touch. He would be expert, despite his youth, in awakening and arousing every pleasure point of her being, bringing her to a state of completion she did not know was possible...
But something was wrong, shockingly wrong. The smell of the man near her was not Marcel, the man of her dreams. The touch on her body was not gentle or smooth but rough and desperate. She was tempted to scream but her mouth was held closed by a another mouth muffling her cries. It was dark, she could not see who or what was assaulting her. The hands became groping, grasping. Her knees were pushed apart, her bed gown pulled up. Something was thrust painfully between her legs, and the paroxysms of an Alien being reaching the pinnacle of passion allowed her to cry out, thrash around and throw it off, whatever it was.
Grace shivered and quivered, and pulled every layer of cover around her like a shroud. There was no sound coming from her. The Alien, however, was sobbing in the darkened room and pleading over and over, “Forgive me, Gabrielle. Forgive me! I’m so sorry.” It was a familiar voice trying to register in her brain which was foggy with terror.
Then she knew. Percy. Percy did this. Percy raped me.
***
Grace’s figure changed. Her stomach swelled. Her heart sank. The child she carried from Percy’s assault should have been Marcel’s. Every evening she played the first movement of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata over and over, losing herself in its poignant sorrow. The melancholic mood swept over her and filled her with a desperate ache, an enduring anguish. The betrayal of the Rose Crystal that was supposed to give her a life of beauty and happiness was a lie. How could she ever believe in it again? In anything or anyone?
Mourning Marcel’s death, mourning the death of her purity, her spirit, she pounded the keys with her fists. Music sheets flew into the air and across the room. Grace grabbed the piano’s music desk and dislodged it from its hinges. Using the flat board as a hammer she slammed it down onto the keys, pummeled hammers and strings until they came apart. Her hands were bloodied and, when she comprehended what she had done, she was horrified that she had destroyed the one thing that made her life bearable.
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