Wild Irish Girl

by C. B. Halverson

  “Why do you think she is so determined to put on The Rebel Sons?” he asked me as he tuned her harp. If the woman ever used it, I had never seen evidence.

  “She wants to create a spectacle in order to ingratiate you to the ton,” I said, looking up from my manuscript. In spite of my falling out with my publisher, I continued working on it. Perhaps my efforts were futile, but the story had taken hold of my mind and refused to let go.

  “Does Castlevane know?”

  “Lord, no, Papa.” I set down my quill. “If he knew what her ladyship intended, he would never allow it.”

  “Yes, precisely, my dear. Perhaps it isn’t wise to run afoul of your fiancé.”

  Picking up my last page, I blew across the wet ink, willing it to dry faster. “No, you see, Lady Aberthorne’s plan is brilliant. We will force Castlevane to appreciate the play’s genius, and he won’t have to appeal to Dublin Castle for your case or for Lyddy’s. If the Aberthornes grant you their blessing, you’ll be under their protection.”

  Papa pressed a single note on the piano, listening carefully to the pitch before turning the gold peg. It rang out, and I winced at the flat sound.

  “Give it here,” I said, rising and taking hold of the harp. “I’ll finish this.”

  He gave me a warm smile and turned to help himself to the whiskey decanter.

  Soft footsteps sounded across the carpet, and I glanced to the doorway. Lyddy breezed into the sitting room, her smile wide. Fresh color filled her cheeks, and her hair appeared thicker and shinier. The waxy stare in her eyes had left, and her lips looked full, not cracked and thin as before. My heart bloomed with gratitude toward Joseph to see my sister so healthy and glowing, and I returned her grin.

  “Papa!” she cried, her eyes bright. “The players are here for rehearsal. We need to go back over the second act. Please, do hurry.”

  Papa slung back the rest of his whiskey and straightened his mantle.

  “These London actors,” he grumbled, marching across the sitting room to Lyddy, “have no passion, no sense of emotional depth…wooden…disastrous…”

  His mumbling continued down the hall until it faded into silence.

  I turned back to the harp, tuning the last few strings, letting my fingers linger. I began to play, pulling a gentle sound from the instrument. I closed my eyes and let the melody take over, the song willing me to hum along. Then as the notes swelled to crescendo, my mouth opened wider, and I gave myself full into the song. It was one of Thomas Moore’s, “The Last Rose of Summer,” and my whole being opened to the beauty of the poetry. A gentle breeze brushed against my cheek, and I smiled, my eyes still closed. In spite of the ache within my heart, music was one of the only places I felt truly free, more so now that even my novels had been wrenched from me. Finally, the song ended, the last line ringing out in the music room,

  Oh who would inhabit this bleak world alone?

  This bleak world alone…

  Then I sat back my hands in my lap.

  “You sound so different when you play for yourself.” Joseph’s voice echoed through the parlor.

  I startled at the intrusion, my shoulders tensing for a moment.

  “How do I sound different?” I said.

  “More natural, maybe,” he said. “Vulnerable.”

  I twisted around the stool and leveled him my best withering stare. “Are you calling me otherwise affected, Dr. Moorland?”

  He shook his head, moving toward me. His eyes were dark and heavy with desire, and I shivered just to glance at his unshaven face. The demands of Lord Aberthorne’s illness were written in the circles beneath his eyes, but even with his exhaustion, his gaze remained bright. Focused. I had to turn away, to hide the blush in my cheeks. He placed his hands on my shoulders, sweeping my wild hair down my back. A tremor shot through my spine, and I let out a long exhale.

  “You know I adore your little affectations,” he whispered in my ear, his tongue sliding softly against the delicate flesh. “But it’s the difference between seeing you all dressed up and ornamented as a princess and feeling you naked and raw beneath me.”

  He kissed my neck, and I let out a little gasp, my breath hitching in my throat. His hands traveled down the front of my dress and cupped my breasts, his thumbs seeking out my hardening nipples beneath the thin fabric.

  “Won’t you be missed?” I whispered.

  “Lady Aberthorne is attending her husband.” He pressed his hips against my back, and his desire was like a steel rod against me. “I need you, Audrey.”

  I twisted around on the stool, my hands seeking out his cock bursting through his trousers. I rubbed my palm back and forth against the rough wool, and he threw his head back with a low groan, his fingers digging into my shoulders.

  “Someone could come any minute,” I said in a low voice, glancing at the door at the other end of the parlor.

  He made an impatient sound low in his throat and grabbed my hand, pulling me to standing. “Go wait for me in the temple. I want to take you there.” He planted a hot kiss on my lips. “Be ready for me.”

  My skin tingled with excitement, a sly smile spreading across my face before I flew from his grasp. I burst out onto the verandah, the bright morning light dazzling my eyes. I raced across the dewy grass and into the labyrinth like some creature out of Greek myth, waiting to be caught. Wanting to be caught. Breathless, I reached the marble temple and hid inside the small alcove where no one would see us.

  My hands trembled as I undid the laces of my dress, letting it pool around me before releasing my stays and undoing my stockings. I shivered in the cool spring air, rubbing my hands up and down my arms prickling with goose flesh. Anyone could walk in. A gardener, a servant, a stray guest of the Aberthornes’, and my heart raced, my gut twisting with unease. I closed my eyes and took a stabilizing breath, sinking into a tight corner. Footsteps echoed in the marble temple, and I swallowed a surge of panic.

  “Audrey…” Joseph whispered, his voice echoing through the columns.

  “I’m here.” I placed my hand around my throat, the walls closing in on me.

  He turned the corner and paused, his eyes bright.

  “Take your hand away,” he commanded in a firm voice.

  Swallowing hard, I let my arm drop.

  “That’s better.” He stepped forward. “I want to look at you for a moment.”

  He stopped in front of me, his mouth a hairsbreadth away.

  “Do not be afraid,” he whispered. “I told the gardeners to stay away. Said I was studying a particular plant that might be useful for their lord’s treatment, and I was not to be disturbed.”

  I let out an involuntary giggle. “Ah, for science, then.”

  He smiled. “Yes. For science.”

  Before I could say more, he reached out and cupped my sex, his finger forceful and invading . A burst of wetness dampened my thighs, and he made a low sound in his throat.

  “You’re wet for me,” he said.

  “Always.” My voice came out hoarse, choking, my throat tightening.

  “Do you remember at the Gathering of the Phoenix?” He inserted another finger, his hand stroking me with a subtle rhythm.

  I nearly collapsed against him, my mouth gaping open with an empty scream of desire. “Yes…I…”

  “Do you remember the initiate? Do you remember watching her?”

  My nipples turned rock hard thinking of the woman, tied up, flogged. The memory filled my mind along with how Joseph had toyed with my body, introduced me to that strange, painful game. With his other hand, he cupped my breast, his fingers still exploring, teasing out my longing. God, I would have done anything for him in that moment.

  “Would you let me take you like that?”

  “Like…what…?” I gasped.

  “Do you remember your special word?”

  “Of course.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Then turn around.”

  “�
�sorry?”

  He withdrew his hands, and I let out a small cry, my body rippling with the aftershocks of his touch.

  “Turn around,” he demanded. “I won’t ask you again.”

  Excitement fluttered in my belly at his commanding tone, and I twisted my body around, the cold air stinging my skin. Joseph hovered behind me, his breath hot against my shoulder blades.

  “What are you--?”

  “Do not speak.”

  I shut my mouth tight, his scolding voice sending a pulsing wave of heat through me.

  “Place your palms against the wall.”

  I shifted to glance over my shoulder.

  “Do not turn around,” he said.

  My hands shaking, I pressed them to the cold marble wall, very aware of how it forced my back to arch.

  “Spread your legs slightly,” he said in a tight voice. “I want to see your sex glistening for me.”

  I planted my feet wider than my hips, the cool draft hitting the heat between my thighs. I winced at the empty, hollow feeling, wishing Joseph would take me from behind, fill me up completely. The wind whistling through the temple sounded like a banshee in my ears, and I took a deep breath.

  His hand swept across my flank. “I am going to discipline you now, Audrey. You must use your word if it is too much.”

  “Di…discipline?” I swallowed hard. “I don’t…”

  He grabbed my hair and twisted it around his wrist, tugging me close to his lips. “I want you to remember who you belong to.”

  My eyes widened, desire uncoiling deep in my belly.

  “Do you want me remind you?” he whispered in my ear. “Be honest with me Audrey. We can stop.”

  “No, I…” I blinked rapidly, overwhelmed by the strange need erupting from some dark place deep within me. I thought of the initiate, the way she writhed with desire. How contained and controlled she was. Was that discipline? Why did it seem so delicious? So necessary?

  “I want it,” I said in a breathy voice. “How you like it, Joseph. I want that, too.”

  He released me.

  “Keep your palms against the wall,” he ordered.

  Slap.

  His hand slammed against my bottom with a sharp sting, and pain shot down my legs. I moaned, my cheek resting against the cold marble wall. He struck again, and in spite of the sharp ache, wetness burst between my legs, my hips swaying.

  “Keep your palms on the wall, Audrey.” He punctuated the demand with another strike against my behind. My fingers trembled, the sweat on my hands making them slippery, and I almost staggered to my knees with another slap from his belt.

  “Give yourself to it,” he whispered in my ear, his hand clutching my shoulder.

  He let go and spanked me again, hot and relentless. I cried out, my lips scraping against the marble, wishing it was his mouth against mine. But he wouldn’t stop, and the more I whimpered, the more the sound drove him to punish me. My nipples hardened, my fingernails digging into the stone, hot desire taking over my body like a fever. I had wondered why the initiate had agreed to the flogging, gave herself over to it, even wanted it, lusted after it. Joseph’s power over me was a drug, and with every mark on my skin, he branded me as his. For years I never belonged to anything or anyone, but he taught me the most natural of laws, the force that brought us to one another again and again, which was the simple fact that our bodies were made for one another.

  He stopped, his breathing thick, the smell of sex radiating from him behind me. His fingers danced across my flank, tracing the crack of my behind until he found my opening.

  “You liked that, Audrey?” He inserted a finger inside me, massaging me.

  “Yes,” I gasped.

  “You are so ready for me, I can feel it.”

  I nodded, heat blooming in my cheeks. I let out a long, staggering breath as he moved his hand quicker.

  “Tell me who you belong to,” he said in a low voice.

  “I belong to you.”

  He emptied me and grasped my arm, whirling me around with a demanding tug. “Say it again. Look me in the eye when you say it.”

  I swallowed hard, my gaze cloudy as I tried to focus my eyes on his. “I—”

  “Say it, Audrey!”

  “I belong to you!”

  He pulled me into his chest, and I buried my face in the hollow space by his shoulder.“I belong to you,” I whispered. “I don’t know how, or why, but I am yours.”

  He squeezed me tight, his other hand reaching for the buttons of his trousers. “Always?”

  “Always.”

  He took my hands in his and planted them at my sides as he slid down my body, his fingers tracing the curves of my waist, my hips. He took hold of the back of my knee and lifted my leg over his shoulder, his other hand stroking the inside of my thighs. My backside burned, and the cool marble soothed my skin as I arched my spine, leaning into his explorations. Burying his face between my legs, he licked the outline of my sex, peeling the folds back with his expert tongue.

  A low moan escaped my lips, and I ran my fingers through his hair, clutching on to his scalp as my knees buckled. Desire radiated from my core, my hips finding their own rhythm against his searching mouth. His tongue lapped delicately against the apex of my sex, the gesture forbidden, like Satan himself in the garden. Pleasure radiated to every inch of my body, and I let out a sharp cry, a profound tremor starting from my core and overwhelming me. His fingers invaded me, his mouth still sucking on my swollen clit as he stroked my pleasure out of me, bringing me to a beautiful crisis.

  “Oh, Audrey.” He drew his mouth away, and I fell to my knees, his arm wrapping close across my back and slipping me beneath his body. He stretched out over me, parting my thighs with his knee. With one swift motion, he guided himself inside, pushing his rock hard cock to the hilt. The impact hit me immediately, and I locked my ankles around him, tilting my hips up to lead him closer into me. He groaned. Thrusting deep, and tangling his hands in my hair, he planted hot kisses down the length of my neck.

  “You’re mine.” He drew himself out, almost emptying me before thrusting firm inside me again. “Mine.”

  Echoes of his voice stirred some primal force in my brain, and I arched my back, meeting each incredible thrust of his muscled body. I opened my mouth to scream, my body releasing again, but nothing came out but a silent hitching of my breath, all the air and sound swallowed up by our communion. He pounded fast, his body possessed by some great physical force.

  “Audrey!” he groaned, his cock pumping into me, filling me to overflowing. He came forever, aftershocks sending tremors up and down his spine. Finally, he collapsed over me, his heart thundering against mine.

  He rolled to his side, drawing me against his chest.

  “Are you all right?” he murmured into my hair.

  I shook my head. “I never understood why those women enjoyed that so much, but I know now.”

  He sat up, leaning on one elbow. “And what do you know, my dear Miss Byrnes?”

  I smiled up at him, joy like a bright light filling my chest. I loved him. God, I loved him. “I think to wander this world, well…it can make one feel quite alone.” I glanced sideways, his gaze too much for me to look at, like staring at the sun. “There is no order to anything and our human connections are so fleeting, so tenuous.”

  I looked up, his face still, attentive. I sounded like a madwoman.

  “When you disciplined me like that,” I continued, swallowing hard, “the world made such perfect sense for a few moments. There was an order to things that made me feel…” I brought my hand to his cheek, tracing the delicate lines of his bottom lip, almost feminine in its fullness. “It made me feel very…secure.” I laughed beneath my breath. “Goodness, that does not make any sense.”

  His smile widened. “No, I think I understand.”

  I took a deep breath. “My mother was a Methodist. Very orderly. And when she died…” My voice caught in my throat, and I stared down at my hands. “When she d
ied, everything in our lives spun out of control. And then with the theatre…I thought if I could write novels, everything would work out fine. But nothing is ever easy.” I glanced up at Joseph. “Not even this.”

  He took hold of my chin, placing his lips near mine. “I swear to you. One day you will wake up in a warm bed. Next to me. And you will know what it means to be safe. And loved.”

  I kissed him, drinking in the spicy warmth of his mouth before breaking apart with a long sigh. “But Castlevane—”

  Joseph pressed a hand across my face, smothering me. “Do not say his name. Do you wish the devil to appear?”

  I smacked his hand away with a nervous laugh. “I’m serious. How will we ever--?”

  He took my hands and placed them palms up, his thumbs rubbing across the delicate skin of my wrists. “I might have a plan, but it will take some time.”

  I shook my head. “A plan, but what--?”

  “Do you trust me?” His deep brown eyes bore into me.

  “I…”

  “Audrey.” His grip on my wrists tightened. “Do you trust me?”

  I let out a long exhale. “Of course.”

  “Then continue as before. And when the time is right, I will tell you what I intend. In the meantime, it is far too dangerous.”

  I winked at him. “I like it dangerous.”

  He smiled and placed a small kiss on my forehead. “There are other dangerous games we could play together. But not this one. Not right now.”

  Joseph glanced over my shoulder and pressed me close against his chest. “Now go. Prepare for the play tonight. I hear Castlevane will be there, and you must attend to him.”

  I nodded, gathering up my clothes. Joseph dressed quickly and kissed me one more time before marching down the steps of the temple. He glanced back, his brown hair blowing away from his forehead, his eyes shining.

  “I love you, Audrey Byrnes,” he said in a clear voice. “And there is no force in this world or the next that can deny us. This I know.”

  I gave him my widest, most brilliant smile, and a blush crept up his face. Clutching my shift across my chest, it was all I could do not to run to him and throw my arms around his neck. But before I could act on the impulse, he disappeared into the garden, and I leaned against the cold marble wall, my belly fluttering as flashes of our lovemaking swept again through my mind. I closed my eyes, biting my lip and sighing, before a cold draft reminded me of my most precarious position alone in the garden. Fastening my stays and pouring my gown back over my head, I tried to smooth my hair into something resembling respectability. With a small laugh to myself, I flitted down the steps.