Cupids Essence Read online

  Cupids Essence

  J Thompson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Cupids Story

  A Note From Jenn

  More Books By J Thompson

  Copyright © 2015 J Thompson All rights reserved.

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  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

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  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  There are so many people I want to thank for helping me bring Cupid’s Essence to life.

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  Thank you to Stephanie my editor, you my dear rock and you are so stuck with me.

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  To Yeri, your support means the world to me, more than you can ever know.

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  To the Chapter chicks and Beta team, Ladies thank you from the bottom of my heart.

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  Amanda, woman you are amazing.

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  And finally

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  To every single reader that pics this story up, remember how amazing you are and never ever doubt it.

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  Believe in You.

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  xxx

  Paris 1825, Midnight

  Marcella Rousseau flicked a glance at her locked bedroom door, convinced she had heard a noise. She had hoped the party downstairs would note her absence and would continue long into the night. She continued to watch the door until she was certain there was no sound coming from the other side, before she bent her head back to her task.

  She was to leave. Leave everything behind, even her most prized possession; the item that had caused so much turmoil within the past few months, but also the item that had initiated her happiness. She wouldn’t leave this most precious of items without writing some instructions for the next owner. Her quill scratched over the parchment as she signed her name, not that they would know who she was but it just felt right. She blew over the ink in an effort to dry it quicker.

  A loud, sharp whistle alerted Marcella that her time was up. Ignoring the few smudges on the parchment, she folded it and then pushed it inside a hidden compartment at the back of the rosewood box, along with a small diary. She clicked the door shut and gazed one last time at the contents. The small bottle, so delicate it had literally changed her life and turned it upside down.

  “Marcella, my love, you must hurry.” Anton’s deep voice pulled Marcella from her inner thoughts of the past and the path that had led her to her current situation. She slid the lid closed with a reluctance she fought; she placed the box upon the top shelf of her bookcase. Hiding it within plain sight.

  All Marcella had left to do, now, was to take the final leap, trust in her heart and finally follow her dreams. If she stayed, those dreams would be nothing but mists within her mind and as Anton had said on more than one occasion, she was much too stubborn to not live her dreams.

  With a lingering look at her shelf, she then turned and walked towards the window. Below lay her future. She placed her foot upon the railing and prepared to take the small jump, knowing Anton would catch her. A small niggling doubt stopped her from stepping off.

  “I can’t leave it behind,” she whispered.

  “Marcella, please my darling we have to go, we haven’t much time,” Anton’s voice called, desperation laced his words, shortly followed by a loud bang at her bedroom door, one that shook the room. Marcella ignored the loud, angry voices of the men that had now realised she wasn’t present at her own engagement party and looked down at the man that owned her heart. She forgot about the box that she had been so desperate to keep. With a smile she stepped off the balcony and into the open arms of the man meant for her.

  “AhChoo!”

  Belinda couldn’t stop the sneeze that rose from within her sinuses and erupted out of her nose like an F1 car at the start of a race. The force of the sneeze made her stumble forward and she almost ended up face down in a box of old football programmes, the dust and cobwebs very nearly sent her into a fit of sneezing and only her quick movements to get herself back upright stopped it.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled sheepishly when she realised everyone in the building had turned and looked at her after the eruption. She kept her head down and avoided eye contact. Bloody hell, anyone would think Vesuvius had just erupted the way they were looking at her. Belinda quickly reached into her handbag and grabbed the small pack of tissues that she always carried around. Turning her head, she spotted a small alcove made from bookshelves and stepped into the small space, now hidden amongst the old books, magazines and other bric a brac people liked to sell. She was certain that her cheeks were bright red and it wasn’t from the cold either, embarrassment flooded her. Belinda had never been one to want or try to attract attention. She hated having people’s eyes on her, watching, so when something like this happened it hit every cell in her body and she had to fight against an anxiety attack. Her only saving grace was the many alcoves, like the one she was stood in.

  Carter’s Antiques warehouse was an old but gigantic barn that had been converted, about 15 years ago, into a dry storage space. The space held hundreds of small alcoves, run by sellers from all over the country, housing items from pottery all the way to furniture.

  Belinda loved it, instead of freezing her arse off like she used to do at antiques fairs or getting piss-wet through because, you know, British weather and all that, she now, thankfully, got to stay dry and take her time perusing to her heart’s desire. To her, this place was like what Santa’s grotto was to the kids, she had already spent many hours head bent, rifling through boxes to see if she could find treasure.

  The old smells that filled the place reminded her of the weekends she used to spend at her grandparents’ house; old furniture polish laced with old, flowery scents that tingled the nose and as she had found out, already made her allergies kick off. There was nothing Belinda liked more than spending her Sunday mornings here, buried within the past, away from the craziness of the real world.

  Located three miles from her house in Bishops Stortford, it was set in the countryside and not only housed the old barn but also a small tea room, a few craft shops and an outdoor play area for children. In the summer months the farm next door would allow the children to feed the animals, but seeing as it was now February the animals were tucked up and warm, unlike Belinda who ha
d lost the feeling in her toes and finger tips.

  She peeked her head out of the alcove and smiled with relief, no one was taking notice of her now and she could continue with her hunt. Panic attack averted.

  Her prey, or treasure, were old vintage perfume bottles, ideally the older the better, also, the more ornate the more excited she got. Boasting a collection of 40 bottles, she was proud to say she had a wide range of designs and styles. Some were round and simple and others stood tall and thin, with intricate designs showcasing the skill of those that had produced it. Each one told its own story, gave glimpses into the lives of the previous owners. Her imagination would always go wild when she thought of the times the bottles had come from. She would imagine the ladies all dressed up in beautiful gowns, dabbing their necks with the perfume before sweeping down to meet the gentlemen and find their love, or even attending a secret rendezvous.

  Belinda smiled to herself as she dived out of the alcove and continued on her search, she had only been here 25 minutes so she had plenty of time to spare. Sundays were the days she looked forward to most. During the week she worked as a librarian in the local library. She spent her days arranging and sorting books that spoke of love and romance, of adventure and intrigue, and yet, her life was the complete opposite. Her life, although blessed- she was alive and healthy after all- was, in short, boring. Her life consisted of books, perfume bottles and organisation. Belinda was the quintessential spinster. The ones mentioned in the books she loved as having missed out on life and seemed satisfied with their lot, usually chaperoning the lead lady, Belinda thought.

  At 28, some would think she was passed it, anyone would think she was 38 the way the old ladies of the town went on. She had been the centre of the gossip in the town ever since she had moved into her grandparents’ house and had become the only single, late twenties female in the vicinity. She hadn’t missed the comments about how she should just accept it and get a cat. Belinda rolled her eyes and moved towards the next alcove, her eyes flickering over the boxes and shelves.

  She knew the trio of Marge, Cleo and Veronica meant well, but their repeated attempts to meddle in her life had started to get very old. She knew they needed entertainment, but trying to set her up with every young man below the age of 30 was getting ridiculous. She might be a virgin but that didn’t mean she was desperate.

  Belinda had been lucky to have loving and open parents, so it wasn’t as if she had been sheltered from life. Yes, she had been born late on in their lives, but every moment had been amazing. They had taught her so much; she had been unlucky to lose them when she was only 25. Her mother had been a gentle soul, unless her father wanted to rile her up. He always knew which button to press and seemed to enjoy doing it. He owned her heart and when she had developed pneumonia, just before her 71st birthday, her father had lasted only six months longer. It hadn’t taken much to know that her father had wanted to be with her mum again. The doctors all said his heart had given out, as was expected at the ripe age of 78, but Belinda knew it was more along the lines of a broken heart that had done it. Up until her mother had passed away, her father had been so active he made most young lads look lazy. He cycled everywhere, gardened, not only at home, but he also ran his allotment and she never counted the multiple “manly” hobbies he used to do that would drive her mum up the wall. Her parents had adored each other, they never hid it. The secret looks they shared and the loving smiles they openly sported showed a young Belinda that true love was real; you just had to be lucky enough to find the right person to share it with.

  Seeing the hint of a sparkle, Belinda headed over towards a particular shiny box full of glass, her mind once again drifting to thoughts of her parents. She knew she was lucky when they had been with her, but after they had gone, she realised just how much. They had always known that the chances of them passing whilst she was still young was high, so they had planned.

  When her father had joined her mother, she had been called to the solicitors that had been in charge of their will. They had both been careful with money throughout their lives and had invested well and as such, Belinda had been left with a healthy bank balance, as well as two properties, her parents’ home and her grandparents’ home. Belinda had been stunned, she had always worked hard and never, ever expected anything like this; her parents had set her up for life.

  If she wanted, Belinda could finish work and become a lady of leisure, but what would that leave her with? She had no real friends, unless you classed the lady at the tea room a friend as they were on first name terms. Her job was what stopped her from becoming the spinster the ladies in the town threatened she would be. Her job gave her empty life purpose and got her out of the house and her mind off the fact she was simply lonely, 28 and still single.

  Belinda sighed as she moved onto another wooden box filled with bits and pieces made of glass. Her age and relationship was something the ‘ladies club’ often commented on, acting as if it was a crime. She was sure there were thousands of other women out in the wide world that were the same ages and didn’t have men in their lives. But, then again, they probably had friends and social lives. She continued to search through the box; there were beautiful pieces of orange and blue carnival glass, along with lead crystal but, unfortunately, no sign of any perfume bottles.

  Belinda continued to slowly move onwards, her mind focusing on the search and no longer on the negatives in her life. At each stall she would smile at the sellers as they looked up from gripping their plastic cups filled with tea or coffee. Some she knew by name and others she had rarely seen as they didn’t always man their stalls personally. Most of the time, conversation wasn’t really needed when it came to buying her bottles, she wasn’t much of a haggler and she would confirm the price and make sure she felt it was worth it, then she would hand over the cash. They probably classed her as a push over but she didn’t care. This was her hobby, her love if you could call it that.

  Belinda slipped her hands into the warm pockets of her Gilet and started walking again. Regardless of the fact they were inside, it was still colder than a penguin’s left nut. The pure size of the building meant that any heat evaporated quickly and no matter what time of year, it was always chilly. She smirked as she walked past a few more of the sellers all huddled around a single oil heater, every single one of them had on a pair of those fingerless gloves and made her think of American based movies like Home Alone where the baddies always wore them.

  Belinda wandered around for a while longer before deciding she needed a hot drink and a chance to warm herself. The only problem with coming to Carter’s was that it was hit and miss; some days she would drop on some of the best bottles she had ever managed to acquire, other times she would leave with nothing but a sniffly nose and an extra slice of the lemon drizzle cake from the café as a consolation prize.

  She moved onto the main walkway and headed towards the exit. Her hands had now started to tingle from the cold that in itself told Belinda it was time to go. A cup of tea from the café would sort that out and possibly a bimble around the craft shops would make up for the lack of luck in finding a bottle. Smiling at the final few sellers she stopped and looked at a sign that was stuck to a post in front of an empty alcove. Surely she wasn’t that lucky.

  Coming soon- Amor Vintage glass- Glass from all over the world

  Grinning, she once again headed outside and to the tea room, maybe next week her luck would be in and she would find something unique and stunning.

  Dressed in just a pair of jogging bottoms, the tall, beautifully sculpted male lounged, arms spread wide and legs up on the sofa. If it had been any other male he probably would have looked like a slob, but not this male. His muscles glistened as the sun streamed through the full length windows, the smattering of hair on his chest looked almost golden; a similar shade to the full locks that covered his head, just reaching his chin, it was messy but suited his chiselled features.

  His eyes were the colour of the Mediterranean Sea; turquoise depths
that hinted at age old knowledge, they mesmerized any who stared into them. This male was utter perfection, a being that could ruin men for all women.

  This male was Cupid, and he was bored. He admitted, though only to himself, that it usually didn’t take much, but today it seemed nothing would occupy him. Nothing was able to hold his attention, not even the addictively annoying TV show Jeremy Kyle that on many occasions would have him chuckling in delight as the mortals aired their troubles and woes so all could see. It amused him and confused him; why did so many mortals have bad teeth? Cupid had assumed, in this modern age, the upkeep of things like teeth and hair would be easy. Cupid shuddered at the thought of these mortals and actually, for a moment, despaired for the future of the human race, before he rolled his eyes and started to flick through the TV channels in search of anything that would take his mind off the fact his wife and goddess, Psyche, had gone off with the other goddess’s for a “ladies holiday”.

  He had no idea what that involved and he didn’t want to know. The whims and excesses of one woman was enough to blow anyone’s mind, never mind a gaggle of them, and that was before you entered the term goddess into the mix.

  So here he was, lonely and bored, with no one to play with. What was a god to do? He stopped briefly from his flicking to watch the tail end of My Cat from Hell, letting the thought of ‘we should get a cat’ enter his mind, then leave it just as quickly. He didn’t have time to deal with an animal pet, hell, he struggled enough with a wife. Cupid snorted at his own joke.

  “Ha! Tail… Cat. I’m a funny fucker.”