My gaze turned to Weston. “You mean, you are the author of the Reaper Poems? Where death mocks Castlevane?”
He laughed and pointed at himself. “Me? Goodness no.”
He turned his adoring eyes to Christine.
My eyes widened, and I shook my head. “You? Why didn’t you tell me?”
She let out a giggle. “Tell my Irish friend I was writing seditious poetry, myself? Oh, my dear, you have enough problems.”
I took a long breath, studying Christine’s delicate nose, her full lips. It struck me how private the lives of women were, how much they hid from the world. Christine, Lyddy, even Lady Aberthorne—leader of the Gathering. My character Roisin had given me liberties to speak out, to sing, to dance, to play the rebel. But that was all it was. A performance. Without my green mantle, I would be another woman in the shadows, secretly parceling out my words and praying no one would ever catch me. My fingers traced the embroidered edge of the heavy green fabric, and I felt the impulse to tear it from my shoulders, wad it up, and throw it into the fire.
“Are you angry with me?” Christine asked in a small voice.
My head snapped up. “No. My darling friend, no. Those poems are brilliant. I’m merely mad for…for this world.”
My head pounded, and I took another sip of wine. Anger or no, I had to do something. I didn’t have much in my arsenal, but what I did have were words. So many words. A kingdom full of words.
“I think such a display calls for a satire,” Lady Aberthorne drawled, her eyes glittering. “Miss Byrnes can take him down that way. It shall be splendid.”
“Yes,” I said. “A poem…”
Christine raised her glass. “A poem!”
“About a bull.” A wide smile spread across my face. “A bull in a boudoir.”
Chapter 28
Joseph
My skin prickled, and I turned to Audrey. “You cannot be serious.”
Her smile wilted, her fingers dancing around the edge of her empty wine glass. “Of course I’m serious. What else would you have me do?”
I stood up, forcing my voice to remain calm. The air had grown heavy with silence, and Weston cleared his throat, moving across the room to pour himself more wine.
“I would have you…” I shook my head. I knew Audrey wanted to take action, but a bawdy poem was absurd. Lady Aberthorne and Lady Elliot could hide behind their wealth, but Audrey would have nothing to protect her from censure.
“I would have you not expose yourself like this,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “But like I said, it will be anonymous.”
“How can you be sure?” I paced across the room. “If this came back to you…”
Audrey let out a strangled sound. “Is it my reputation you’re worried about? Or is it yours?”
I whirled on her, my heart pounding in my ears. I clenched my fists and leveled her a dark stare. “I will be in my lab.”
I bowed to Lady Aberthorne, muttered something about a “lovely evening,” and then escaped the suffocating room. After checking on my patient, I retreated to the makeshift lab the Aberthornes had set up for me. They had cleared out some of the plants of the atrium and supplied me with several bookshelves and tables. My microscope had finally arrived from my London office, and I needed to go through more samples before I could make my final assessment on my toxicology report to send to my colleagues at Cambridge.
I sorted through my samples, moving on to tissue and urine specimens. Lighting the tiny oil lamp on the other end of the microscope, I carefully set the sample in the field of illumination. Peering into the lens, I adjusted it until the material came into focus. There. The adenium swirled within the sample, clouding it with dark spots. Now I simply needed a sample of the poison itself in order to create a test, which meant I would need to find the rare plant somewhere in London. Adenium was a common decorative flower in Arabia, but it was known for its toxic properties. I had friends amongst the Lascar community in the East End of London, but finding a sample could prove tricky.
I had just set aside the test for cataloguing when the door creaked open.
“Joseph?” Audrey called in a quiet voice.
I took a deep breath, trying to collect my thoughts. I didn’t want to lose my temper as before, but this entire poem business frustrated me to no end. The thought of Audrey exposing herself terrified me, honestly. I would not be able to protect her if word came out of her authorship. Deep down, I knew the situation was more than her precarious position. I had read The Chieftain’s Daughter. I knew what her soul was capable of, and her talents did not lie in bawdy satire. She was a romantic, and seeing her gleefully throw herself into such a project felt coarse, out of character. Worse yet, I suspected Lady Aberthorne was using her to protect herself from Castlevane’s wrath.
Steeling myself, I shuffled my papers as she approached me. Perhaps I did not know who she was after all. Perhaps she would always be pretending. For the world. For me.
“So this is your secret lair.” She circled my desk, studying the intricate ironwork of the microscope.
She reached out to touch the specimen in the lamplight. “And what is this strange potion?”
“That is Lord Aberthorne’s urine.”
She snatched her fingers away as if it burned her, her face growing pink. “Good lord.”
“I am collecting samples of the poison,” I said.
“Why ever for?” Audrey’s hand brushed against my papers, her gaze lingering on the Latinate words.
“It’s a new science. It’s…” I sighed, my head pounding. I did not have the energy to explain it all tonight. “Through a series of tests, I will hopefully be able to prove the traces of poison in his blood.”
“Ah.” She raised her eyebrows. “And what do you intend to do with this proof.”
I intend to catch Castlevane and have him tried for attempted murder.
“I told you. It’s a test. An experiment. We try things. We fail at things. Sometimes we succeed and then we do more tests.”
I could not force myself to tell her what I intended. I did not want to see her hopes rise only to be dashed again because I could not succeed at catching Castlevane at his horrible game. In light of recent events, the stakes were too high, and with her father’s life in the balance, I could not afford to push Audrey beyond her limits. I never wanted to appear a failure in her eyes.
She folded her arms across her chest, her head bowed and in shadow. “You don’t have to be cross. I was merely curious.”
I picked up my quill and ran my fingers against the feathered edge. I knew I needed to soften the steel in my voice, but the buzz in my ears made it impossible. “I know. I apologize, I only…”
“Why did you leave the sitting room in such a state?” she blurted out.
I threw down the quill. “You know why.”
“You want to control me. What I do. What I write.”
Shifting off my stool, I let out an exasperated sound. “Good lord, is that what you believe?”
“What else can it be?” She shook her head, cornering me. “You’re embarrassed. You say you know me, but you’re just like everyone else. You want some simpering, romantic Irish girl with flowers in her hair and poetry on her lips. You can’t stand the idea of me composing something that will shoot barbs at Castlevane. You can’t stand that I might use my words to…to…fight back!”
The thud in my brain grew to a torrential roar, and I massaged my temples, pacing the room. “Is that what you think you’re doing? Fighting back? One word of the true authorship of this satire, and the ton will eat you up and spit you out. You will be playing right into their caricatures of the Irish. Bawdy. Lewd. Promiscuous.”
As soon as I said the last word, I wished I could snatch it out of the air, place it back in my mouth, and swallow it. Audrey’s eyes grew wide, her pale face turned bright pink.
“Promiscuous?” She let out a bitter laugh. “Well, well, Dr. Moorland. You are certainly an expert on the Irish,
aren’t you.”
“You know I do not believe that, Audrey.” I took hold of her arm. “Do not twist my words around.”
“We cannot win with you English.” She wrenched away. “No matter what we do. If we roll over and take your abuse, we are weak. If we fight back, we are mercurial and temperamental. And god forbid we sleep with you. How soon our romantic sensibilities turn to depravity.”
The roar in my ears turned to a hurricane, and I grabbed Audrey by the waist, pulling her against me. “Don’t you dare lump me in with them. Don’t you dare.”
“Then why do you not want me to write this poem? Why?” She looked at me, her eyes glittering with anger. But beneath that was a terrible fear, like that of a rabbit caught in a trap.
I loosened my hold on her and hung my head. “I don’t know. I…wish…blast it, I wish I could protect you from Castlevane. I wish I had the wealth, the money, the position, and the power so you would never have to defend yourself with your pen.”
Audrey sighed, her fingers spreading against my chest over my heart. “Oh, Joseph…”
“Write it or not, I don’t care. But when the truth comes out, and you come under attack…I…”
Suddenly her lips covered mine, and she kissed me. How this woman could kiss. Her soft mouth drinking from me, gentle and seeking. I hardened at the slightest touch of hers, and after a minute, my cock was stone. I moaned low in my throat, and she responded with a soft exhale, breaking the kiss.
“Did I ever tell you how I began writing novels?”
I shook my head, my desire running hot through my veins.
“I worked as a governess for a family in Ireland for a year. They treated me little better than a servant. I ate alone. I was always so utterly alone. Sometimes they would invite me in to their sitting room for an evening, but it was either to criticize me or to force me to play for them. For hours. Until my fingers bled.”
I took her hands in my mine, letting out a long shuddering breath. “Audrey…”
“I had to do something. Anything. We have so few choices, women. But we have words, and so at night, I began writing The Children of High Tower.” She let out a small laugh and shook her head. “I had no idea what I was doing, but I loved it. Telling stories. But…if my mistress had known, she would have burned those pages and I would have been out in the street before I could blink. She abhorred novels and thought they were vehicles of the devil, sent to entice and seduce young ladies.
“So you see, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to fight back. And it’s not the first time I will have to stand alone if or when the consequences come. The world can do what it likes with me. I am not afraid.”
“You are wrong,” I said, kissing her hairline, the crown of her head. “You will not have to stand alone. You will have me. You will always have me.”
She threw her arms around my neck, her body straining as her lips smothered mine. I hitched my hands together and cupped her sweet bottom, forcing her hips closer against me. She moaned as I rolled my shaft into the space between her legs, and I let out a graceless grunt as I picked her up and whirled her around, placing her up on my desk.
“I…I don’t want to ruin your experiments,” she gasped, her chest rising and falling as I traced hungry kisses along her soft neck.
With a growl, I stacked the papers, shifting the specimens out of the way, before pushing her back against the surface. She stared at me from beneath her hooded eyelids, her cheeks flushed with desire. She arched her back, and her breasts strained against her bodice. I caged her between my arms, leaning down and kissing her before moving to her generous chest. With one flick of my wrist, I had her breast in my palm, my hand massaging it back and forth as my other hand moved away her skirts and petticoats. Her nipple became a pebble beneath my fingers, and I rolled it, watching, hypnotized by the flush creeping up her neck.
My hand explored up the soft flesh of her thigh, seeking out her sex.
“Are you wet for me, Audrey?” My voice came out low and hoarse.
“Yes.” Her eyes rolled back as her hips shifted closer to my hand. “Yes…yes…”
With one firm push, I inserted my finger inside her, her fluids gushing around my palm. She let out a soft moan, and I slipped another finger inside, moving in and out of her with a steady rhythm. My other hand crept up her chest and closed around her neck. She grabbed at my wrist, her eyes widening.
“Let go,” I commanded. “I won’t hurt you.”
But I wanted her like that. The delicate bones of her neck beneath my firm hand, the slight pressure subduing her. I wanted her under my control, if only for these few moments. And I knew she liked it, her sex soaking me as I inserted a third finger inside. She wanted me to take over her body, overwhelm her completely.
She nodded, letting go of my wrist. Emptying her, I grabbed a handkerchief from my pocket and took over her wrists, binding them together. With a gentle push, I positioned them over her head, so her breasts pushed up from her stays, her body spread out and open to me. I placed my palm over her neck again, massaging the tight tendons. I wanted to collar her somehow, make her my slave, but there was not time for that. I could already feel my release gathering in my sac, my cock hungry to be inside of Audrey’s hot sex. I unbuttoned my trousers and swept her skirts away.
I rubbed at my shaft, letting my desire build in anticipation of burying myself in her. I flicked the tip of my cock against her clit, and she let out a whimpering cry, her body writhing. I pushed harder against her neck, willing her to lie still as I rubbed harder and harder.
“Don’t come, Audrey,” I groaned against her ear. “Not yet.”
With one hard thrust, I drove into her. All the way to the hilt. I closed my eyes, a bright light flashing behind them. I nearly emptied her, pushing against her bound wrists. With my other hand, I pleasured her nipples, teasing one and then the other until she moaned.
“Oh, god, I want to come…” she cried. “Please let me come.”
I slammed into her again, my palm squeezing on her neck. She gasped, panted, her mouth opening and closing with her rising ecstasy. My release built into my shaft, and I pounded her. Brutal and quick.
“Come for me.” I buried my hands in her hair, collecting her up from the table. “Come for me, Audrey…”
She threw her bound wrists around my neck, her fingernails digging into my back. Her entire body trembled, and she met each thrust with the rise of her hips. I was a madman, a beast. I wanted to devour her, and I smothered her sharp cries with my mouth as I impaled her. My release shuddered out of me with an explosive burst of pleasure. I sank into her again. Then again. And then I let her go, her voice still calling out for me. Her body still shaking. I cupped my hands over her bound wrists, loving the feel of her submission to me, and pressed them against the table.
I kissed the space over her heart, and then I looked up, meeting her deep blue gaze.
“I could never control you, Audrey,” I said. “Even here. Like this. You rule me utterly.”
She took a deep breath, biting her lip.
“Your words are your own,” I whispered, covering her mouth with a soft press of my lips. “But give me your love, Audrey. Everything else is yours. I swear it.”
“I am going to write the poem.”
“I know.” I worked the tight knot against her wrists until they fell free. She brought her hands to the side of my face and forced me to look at her.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For understanding why I need to fight. Even in my own way.”
I nodded, clutching her, my gaze drifting over her shoulder and to my carefully arranged specimens at the other end of the table.
“I will fight with you, my darling. Whatever I can do, I will.” I took a deep breath. “I promise you.”
Chapter 29
Audrey
I glanced up from my tea as soon as Lord Aberthorne and Joseph entered the room, the two men laughing together at something. I
had spent all night scribbling “The Bull in the Boudoir,” and I swept away a loose curl from my forehead, self-conscious of my fatigued appearance. I had reveled in composing the satire, the metaphor growing and building to epic proportions, but Joseph’s words haunted me. Could my career survive if my identity were discovered? I gave him a weary nod as he rounded the threshold, and he gave me a quick grin that sent my insides fluttering.
He strained a bit from beneath Lord Aberthorne’s girth as he assisted him into his chair. Both Joseph and Lady Aberthorne had been steadfast in their attentions to him, and now the man appeared almost fully recovered, his face a far shade pinker than the last time I saw him. His bright, glittering eyes passed over me, and he nodded before his gaze settled on his wife. She gave him a secret smile before returning to her paper.
“Any good news, darling?” He inquired, his eyes shifting again to me.
I longed to snatch Lady Aberthorne’s paper from her hands, to scan it for news about the trial. Today would be the first day the magistrate would enter the proceedings, and Joseph had already agreed to chaperone Lyddy and me to the courthouse. I took a deep breath, taking a long sip of tea to try to calm the hum of my nerves. I glanced over at the door to see if Lyddy had come down yet. If she didn’t arrive for breakfast soon, I would need to go wake her.
Lady Aberthorne let out an audible gasp. “Oh my.”
“What is it my dear?” Her husband knitted his brow.
“Oh my goodness!” She threw down the paper as if it had bit her.
“What’s wrong?” I said, my stomach bottoming out.
She grasped it with the edges of her thumb and forefinger, and with a trembling hand gave it to me. “I am so sorry.”
All the blood drained from my head. “Is it Papa?”
She shook her head. “Read it.”
I scanned the paper. “Where…?”
“On the lower right hand side.”
My gaze darted over to edge, and I let out a yelp. For there in big block letters was Lyddy’s confession, the full story of her authorship of The Rebel Sons.
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