“I will,” I whispered, moving back and forth against him. My heart yearned for the realness between us, and I realized I didn’t want to play a game or figure into some elaborate scheme.
“Roger…” I whispered.
His brow knitted with confusion. “What?”
“Roger.” I coughed. “No games. No pretense. Just…Roger.”
His frown turned to a wide smile, and his eyes shone in the dark room. “Hippocrates.”
Crawling across his long body, I undid the buttons of his trousers, pulling him free. My hand ran up and down his shaft, rolling the delicate skin over his tip until a small drop of come shone in the dimming light of the fire.
I met his gaze. “Joseph.”
He nodded. “Audrey.”
I kissed the tip of him before taking him full in my mouth, tasting his musky saltiness. He hardened, stiff and long, nearly gagging me. He raised his hips from the mattress with a groan. Letting him slip free from my lips, I slid up his body, folding his cock between my thighs. Hovering above him, I let him tease my clit before I guided him into me. Arching my back, I gave a long sigh before leaning down and kissing him again. He tasted himself on my tongue, and he moaned as I shifted my hips, allowing more of him inside until he filled me completely. He gripped my flank, but I covered his hand with mine and squeezed, forcing him to look at me.
“No goddess,” I said.
He nodded. “No warrior.”
I moved with delicious rhythm, riding him, letting him guide me up and down his cock. “Joseph…Oh god….”
His hips pumped hard, and he sat up, forcing me down on him as he wrapped his strong arms around me. He locked his lips on mine, and he thrust deep even as I slammed against him. We were connected, grinding and gasping, his fingers pulling my hair back as his mouth moved across my neck. Heat filled my body, sweat trickling down my back. A trembling began in my shoulders and rushed down to my sex, and I had to dig my fingernails into his skin and bite my lip to keep from screaming. He pushed me over the edge, and I collapsed against him, shaking and shuddering as he impaled me, his seed spilling over across my thighs. Crushing me against him, he whispered my name over and over.
“Audrey…Audrey…”
As if to remind himself of who I really was. As if to keep me here in his arms forever. He planted kisses all along my neck, my shoulder, each one sending a spasm of pleasure through me until finally both of us stilled. The sound of breathing filled the room, quick and gasping. He brushed my hair from my eyes and gave me a warm smile. I grinned back, and a rush of connection flooded me. I didn’t want him to empty me, turn away, release me back into the world, alone. He seemed to sense it because he laid me gently down on the pillows, arranging himself so he still remained inside me. I threw my thigh across his, pulling him closer into me.
“I have to leave tomorrow,” I whispered.
“But why?” he said.
“There is…trouble at home.”
His face grew dark, and he turned his head.
“Joseph, if there was a way. I swear, if there was a way…”
I didn’t know what I was saying, but the words poured out in a flood of grief and regret. I couldn’t understand how this light flirtation had snowballed into this glacial obsession, but it moved through me with such an unstoppable force. I needed him near, needed him to see me as I was, as no one else did. And I needed to see him. His strength and fearlessness. But as close as I felt to him in that moment, my thoughts wandered far off to Dublin, to my family, my responsibilities. I had not felt a love like this since Charles died, but once again, the hollow place in my heart caved in, and I collapsed beneath it. Even if I could marry Joseph, Castlevane would ruin him and all of us would be lost.
“Maybe.” Joseph swallowed. “Maybe someday we could…”
I shook my head. “There will never be a someday, Joseph. You know that.”
His grip tightened around my waist. “I refuse to believe that.”
“Oh, do you?” I spat, rage billowing up through my chest. Not toward him, but toward the way of the world, how it broke down people like us in spite of everything. “And do you have a thousand pounds a year lying around? Do you have enough political clout to save my ridiculous Irish family from complete ruin? No. You don’t. People like us, we can’t afford to be romantic, Joseph.”
I slipped away from him, suppressing the cry in my throat as he released me. Rushing across the room, I grabbed my shift and shimmied into it, throwing my stays and dress over the thin material. He watched me from across the room, his gaze hot, but I refused to meet his eyes.
“Is this about money, Audrey? Fame and fortune? Is that why you will not accept me?”
I paused, pulling my laces tight. “Don’t.”
“Is that why you came to London? To find a rich husband?” He rose from the bed, pulling the sheet across his waist.
I grabbed my comb from the floor and twisted my hair up in a bun, my lips pressed tightly together.
“Perhaps you want a title.” He pressed, stepping toward me. “Is that it?”
“I don’t want a title,” I muttered beneath my breath.
“Then what do you want?” He hissed. “A wealthy sultan to toy with? Is that it? Maybe we can find you a real Arabian prince to fuck. Maybe you will do me the honors of letting me watch, even.”
I narrowed my gaze at him, my shoulder shaking. “Don’t you dare talk to me that way.”
“Then what do you want?” he shouted.
“I want my mother back!” I screamed. I had no idea where the words came from, but they echoed through the heavy silence between us.
His face fell, and he withdrew, tying the sheet around him. “Audrey, I—”
“I want to feel like I did before she died. I want a sober father and a healthy sister. I want a stable home to call my own. I want to be safe.”
“I am sorry. I did not mean to...” He reached a hand out to me. “I can give that to you. I know it. Someday, I promise you—”
I wrenched myself away. “No. I will not burden you with my wrecked family.”
“Audrey, I do not care,” he pleaded.
I backed away to the door. “I care. I would rather be alone than harm you in any way. Someday you would regret the day you met the Byrnes and took on their debts and their troubles and their burdens. And then you’d be one more person I’d have to worry about leaving me.”
“No.” He turned away, balling his fist into his palm. “No, I swear—”
But I didn’t hear the rest of his words as I was already out the door and halfway down the hall. I slammed my bedroom door behind me. My heart thudded against my ribcage, and my throat tightened as tears pooled in my eyes. Blinking them away, I tore through my room in search of my trunk, stuffing dresses into it so I could escape back to London at first light.
Chapter 18
Joseph
I took hold of Lord Aberthorne’s wrist and counted his heartbeats, my eyes staring at my pocket watch. His skin felt a little warm, but the color had returned to his face, and while he frequently rested, he appeared healthy and conversed with vigor. After three days, he begged to walk around, but I refused, ordering him to remain in bed.
“I implore you, Dr. Moorland,” he protested. “I feel like a new man. A turn down the hall certainly would not damage anything.”
I wrote down his pulse in my notebook and slammed it shut. “As I said before, it is paramount you remain in bed. You had a very close call, Lord Aberthorne, but the surgery seems to be taking.”
“Thanks to your efforts,” he replied, reaching over to his bedside table and taking hold of a stack of papers. “I am most astounded by your talents as a physician, and I would like to recognize you in some special way.”
Heat crept up my neck, and I shook my head. “My lord, medicine is my true calling. It is an honor to serve you.”
He gave a dismissive wave and placed the papers in my hand.
“Lady Aberthorne and I have ma
de arrangements for you, if you find them pleasing.”
I squinted at the parchment, and all the blood left my head as I made out the words scrawled out in a delicate hand. It was a petition for a lordship. For myself. Not Dr. Moorland. Lord Moorland.
Lord Moorland.
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “I cannot accept this.”
“Nonsense!” Lord Aberthorne bellowed. “You saved my life. You are a hero of the highest order, and for that you deserve recognition. A title.”
“My lord, I—”
“And it seems to me such a position might help your case with Miss Byrnes.”
I glanced up from the paper to meet his twinkling eyes. Audrey had left early in the morning a few days ago without saying goodbye, and a heavy sense of dread had weighed on my chest since then. I took a long, shuddering breath, allowing myself for a brief moment to feel something akin to hope.
“Lady Aberthorne told me about your engagement.” He reached over and patted my arm. “We believe it would make a fine match.”
I shook my head. “I am afraid she might have left for Dublin by now.”
“Not at all!” He said. “She is still in London with Lady Elliot, and we wrote her to ask her to return.”
“But, my lord, she mentioned some family trouble at home,” I replied, my heart sinking.
“Right, right.” He nodded and then cocked his head to the side. “But my wife wrote to her and called her back. It seems she forgot her latest manuscript in her rush to leave. She will pass through here tomorrow on her way to Holyhead.”
I took a deep breath and bowed. “My lord, I am not sure how I could ever repay you.”
Lord Aberthorne smiled. “Let me get up from this blasted bed, Dr. Moorland, and that might be a good start.”
I grinned back, returning the petition to him. “Except for that, my lord. I would like to see you well above all things.”
He nodded and let out a long sigh. “And that is why you deserve to be Lord Moorland.”
Chapter 19
Audrey
My publisher, Mr. Neman, wrinkled his nose, his watery eyes blinking hard behind his spectacles.
“An advance?” he said.
I squirmed in my seat, clutching my reticule, inwardly cursing myself for forgetting my manuscript at the Aberthornes. Closing my eyes, I imagined it on the desk where I left it behind. Lady Aberthorne had written to me to inform me of my forgetfulness and offered her carriage for my return. I had no choice but to agree, but not before I tried to broker some capital from my fastidious publisher.
I swallowed hard, throwing my shoulders back. “Yes, Mr. Neman. You see, The Chieftain’s Daughter has already entered its third printing, and—”
“The royalties of which we have given you.”
“Yes, sir. But you see—”
“And what happened to our little Roisin, then?” he smiled, displaying a set of cracked and yellowing teeth. “Did you spend it all on little fripperies and flights of fancy?
I gritted my teeth. If the man only knew.
“Sir, forgive me, but I can ill afford any luxuries at the moment. I do not want to burden you with my affairs, but my family has had a string of poor luck these past years—”
“Yes, about that.” He cleared his throat and ruffled through a stack of papers on his desk. “I have received word about your father’s latest exploits in Dublin.”
I sat up straighter. “Mr. Neman, I did not come here to talk about my father.”
He squinted, his face contorting in a frown. “Yes, but see, it is something my partners and I feel we need to address.”
Ice water rushed through my veins. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You see, circumstances being what they are, the current political climate, we have found…you see, my dear Roisin—”
“My name is Audrey Byrnes, sir.” I leaned forward. “And in business dealings I would prefer you not confuse me with my own characters.”
Mr. Neman looked down, a strange shade of pink washing over his sallow face. “Oh, right. Of course.” He lifted his head, a grimace smeared across his thin face. “But isn’t that what everyone is calling you these days? And what a perfect moniker for such a blushing beauty—”
“If you mean to placate me with flattery, Mr. Neman, I can assure you I am immune when it comes to business matters. Please, help me understand my situation and the status of The Brahmin Princess in a way I might understand. Clearly, my Celtic sensibilities are failing my reason because I cannot make heads or tails of anything you are talking about right now.”
A weighty silence filled the room, dust motes falling through a bright shaft of midday sun streaming through the office window. Sweat dripped down my spine and my hands shook, but I kept my jaw firm, my eyes narrowed on the diminutive man behind his desk.
“Yes, well.” He harrumphed and fiddled with the buttons on his jacket. “To put it directly, Miss Byrnes, my partner and I have decided not to go forward with publication of The Brahmin Princess.”
I shook my head, and the room seemed to close in, black spots growing closer and closer until Mr. Neman appeared as if from the wrong side of a telescope.
“Sorry? Sorry? I…” I pinched the space above my nose and blinked hard. “Not to go forward. Not to go forward?”
“You see, the situation with your father’s theatre, The Rebel Sons. The situation—”
“What is the situation, Mr. Neman?” I snapped, rising to my feet. “You’ve already paid me part of the advance for The Brahmin Princess. I have responsibilities. I counted on the royalties to—”
Mr. Neman raised his hands in defense. “As have we, Roisin—I mean, Miss Byrnes—but you see, certain people have made the situation in publishing quite difficult right now. It’s difficult. That is. It’s difficult to publish manuscripts of a particular color…it’s difficult.”
Certain people.
Of course. Who else could Mr. Neman mean. That bastard. That disgusting, abominable villain.
“Castlevane,” I whispered.
“I beg your pardon.”
I raised my eyes and leveled a cold stare at Mr. Neman. “Lord Castlevane did this. Didn’t he.”
Mr. Neman looked down, his mouth gaping open like a simpleton.
I let out an exasperated sound. “I have made this publishing house money, Mr. Neman. And you would bend to the will of that tyrant?”
His head whipped up, and he stared at me, his eyes wide behind his spectacles. “Tyrant. Yes. The man has threatened to close us down if we print one more word of yours, Miss Byrnes. I have responsibilities, too, and I will not let your romantic sensibilities lead my partner and me to the poorhouse. I suggest you find a press for your manuscript elsewhere.”
A white hot rage permeated my body, my shoulders shaking with the pressure of pushing back a scream. “I shall do just that, Mr. Neman. And I swear you will regret the day you bent to the will of that horrible man. You will.”
I drew up my skirts and darted for the door as hot tears began to press against my eyelids. “You will regret it!”
I swept into Christine’s townhome, the maidservant collecting my hat and gloves, her eyes averted. I knew I looked a mess. My face red and blotchy from desperately trying not to weep through the streets of London, my hair windswept and out of place. Any pretense of the wild Irish girl abandoned. All that remained was a washed-out writer, alone and nearly friendless in this cold and broken city. Servants saw it all, and I watched the maid’s small form disappear down the hall, absently folding my cloak as she escaped around a corner. I retreated up the stairs toward my room, but the sound of laughter from the library made me pause.
“And see here, Landon.” Christine’s soft voice echoed through the hallway, and I lingered by the threshold.
Inside, Christine lay sprawled before the fire with a giant map of the world spread before her. Beside her sat her son, Landon, moving back and forth, a wide smile on his youthful face. His nurse
stood by in a corner, her hands folded in her apron.
“Africa,” Landon whispered, the consonants awkward on his tongue. “Africa.”
“Yes!” Christine shouted, her hand clutching onto his arm. “Yes! Oh darling, yes!”
The movement startled Landon, and he shrank away, a peeling cry emitting from his lips. I cringed at the high-pitched whine, cupping my hands to my ears.
“Might be enough for today, milady,” the nurse uttered, sweeping Landon away.
Christine’s face fell, blinking back tears. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
The nurse took Landon under her arm and swept the young boy out of the room. My heart lurched watching Christine fold her knees against her chest, her gaze studying the licking flames in the hearth. Landon was her only son. Most noblewomen sent children like Landon away, locking them up in horrible asylums, keeping them out of sight. But not Lady Elliot. She kept Landon close to her, the young man always attending outings with his kindly nurse at his side, eating with the family at meals. Christine would never hear a bad word about her son. And after her last miscarriage, she clung to Landon even closer, spending hours with him, talking and laughing. Playing and singing. She confessed to me that sometimes she thought her love for Landon destroyed her marriage with Lord Elliot, that he blamed her for giving birth to a child like him. But she knew Landon’s secrets, the quiet planes of his mind. Some things just were. And deep down, Lord Elliot wouldn’t accept that.
“Are you all right?” I took a few tentative steps into the library.
Christine whirled around, wiping at her eyes. “Oh, hello there, Audrey. How was your meeting with your publishers?”
“It was…” I began, but bit my lip, plastering a giant smile on my face. Christine had helped me enough, and I didn’t need to burden her with my financial woes. “It was wonderful. Everything is going to work out beautifully.”
She reached her hand out to me, and I sat next to her in front of the fire.
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