Inthe

Duke's

Bed

EvaDevon

ASinsoftheDukeNovel

Thisisaworkoffiction.Names,places,characters,andincidentsareeitherthework

oftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously,andanyresemblancetoactual
persons,livingordead,organizations,events,orlocalesareentirelycoincidental.

IntheDuke’sBed
Copyright©2017byMáireCreegan
Allrightsreserved.Noredistributionisauthorized.
AllrightsreservedundertheInternationalandPan-AmericanCopyrightConventions.

Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformbyanyelectronicor
mechanicalmeans—exceptinthecaseofbriefquotationsembodiedincriticalarticlesor
reviews—withoutwrittenpermission.

Formoreinformation:evadevonauthor@gmail.com

Formymother,father,andgodmother

whotaughtmethatdespitethefear,thatfirststepontotherainbowbridgeisbestmetwithloveandpeace

intheheart.

Andforyoutwo.

Everydayisanadventurefullofwonderwithyoubothinmyarms.

Chapter1

Beautifulladiesshouldnot

considertheartofsuicide

Ophelia’sNotebook

England

1859
Opheliaslippedhertoesintothecoldriver,eyesfirmlyshut,andwonderedwhatitwouldbeliketo

drown.Shetookanotherstep.Theswirlingwatercaressedhercalf,seducingitwithathousandlittle
shivers.Shefeltthefoldsofherdeepblueskirtsfloatoutoverthewater,giganticpetals,dancingoverthe
surface.

Drawinginalongbreath,shetookanotherstep.Shesavoredthechillwaterslidingoverherbared

skin,brushingherpetticoatsbetweenherlimbs.Itwasamagicalfeeling,beingenvelopedbythewater.

Indeed,thebeckoningriverseemedtowhisperhername.Perhapsitknewher.Perhapsshewasthe

incarnationofathousandotherOphelias,walkingtotheirdoom.Onestepafteranotherleadingtheminto
thedarkwaterthatmightcarrythemawayfromallthepaintheyhadeverknown.

Shetookanotherstepthentippedbackherheadandopenedhereyestothelateafternoonsun.The

sweet-kissedraysoftheorbsoseldomseeninthispartofthecountryflickeredovertheriver.Thespun
goldofittouchedherheart.Shelongedtosmile,yetshecouldnot.Herheartsat,rock-like,heavyinher
corsetedbreast.

Shegazedovertheancientweepingwillowsontheothersideoftheriver.Theirbranchesbowedinto

thewater,teasingitwiththeirsupple,faded,fallleaves.

HowhadGodcreatedsuchbeautyinaworldmarredbythemiseryofhumanity?
Likely,shewouldneverknow.
Sheneedneverknow.Suchthingswerebeyondherken.Ifshethoughtoverlongonit,hermother’s

illnesswouldweighherheartdownandshe’dcomeoutforthislongwalktoescapetheconstant
knowledgethatsoonhermotherwouldleaveher.

Opheliaforcedherselftofocusonthebreezeflittingoverherneck,playingwiththestraycurlsfrom

hercoif.Shelongedtofeelitall.Tofeelanythingbuttheimminenthorrorofhermother’slingering
illness.

Anillnessthathadslowlystolenhermother’svitalityandensuredthatanydreamsOpheliahadwere

butdistantmemories.Fornow...Perhapsoneday.

Sheshookthetraitorousthoughtaway.Tothinkofatimewhensuchdreamsmight,onceagain,bloom

wasthecruelestbetrayaltoherdearmama.So,Opheliasteppedagain,determinedtofeel.Tofeel
anythingbuttheviciousburdenofmourningthatanticipatedhermama’sdeath.

“Seemsadamnedoddwaytogowaterbathing.”
Opheliafroze,herheartslammingagainstherbreastwithalarmatthesuddenintrusion.
“Areyouwaterbathing?”hedrawled,hisdeepvoiceskimmingherskin.

Sheshivered.Surely,thosetoneshadcomestraightoutofthesinfuldepthsofhell?Forthat

reverberatingmalevoicewasdelicious.

Shedidn’tturntofacehim.Notyet.Sheneededtimebeforesheattemptedtoanswerhisquestion.

Slowly,shetracedherfingertipsthroughthecool,rushingriverandsteppedagain.Sheshouldbeafraid,
butafterthelastyear’strials,sherefusedtobedauntedbyastranger’spresence.

“Areyouawaternymph,then?”heaskedcalmly.
Sheignoredhiswhimsicalsupposition,focusingonthesteadyflowoftheriver.
“Youknow,that’squitepreposterous,”sheobserved.
She’dcometotheriverwithapurpose.Andshemightaswellshareherabsurdtestwithhimsincehe

wassoinquisitive.

“Awaternymphpreposterous?Donotdisparagethelittlefolkso,”hereplied,thevoicedrawing

closer,asifhewerenowstandingdirectlyuponwherethewaterlappedattherich,earthenbank.

Aslowsmile,aridiculous,almostforgottengesture,pulledathermouth.Shecouldnotrecallthelast

timeapersonhadmadehersmile.“Ishouldneverdosuchathing,sir,butIdonotspeakofspritesor
creaturesbeyondtheveil.”

Herskirtsfloatedaboutherlegs,makingherstepsmoreandmorechallenging.Itwassotemptingto

letherkneesbuckle,toslipunderthedarkwater.Tobepurified.Abaptismofsorts.Ifshejustimmersed
herself,shewouldfeelfreeagain.Freeofthebitternessofdeath.She,herself,couldbereborn,evenifso
manyotherscouldnot.

“Ofwhat,then,doyouspeak?”
“ThefamouspainterGabrielRossetti.”Thenamepassedherlipslikeadevil’scurse.Somewherein

London,thatmanwasrevelinginthegloryofhisartwithhisfriends,thePre-RaphaeliteBrotherhood.A
renownedpainter,agenius,aliar.HewastheleaderofthemostbeautifulmovementofartistsEngland
hadeverknown,andsheyearned.Oh,notfortheman.Butforsomething.Anythinglargerthanthislittle
lifeshehadbeencondemnedto.

Still,thatdidn’tchangethefactthatGabrielRossettiwasduplicitousinhisclaimstohavesaveda

womanfromtheicyThames.Yes.Shewascertain.Fromhertest,themanhadtobeanout-and-outliar.

ItwouldbeabsolutelyimpossibleforawomantobestillinthepowerfulThamestobepainted.No.

Opheliarefusedtobelieveitandthatthemodelhadalmostdrownedthere.Theeventmusthaveoccurred
somewhereelse,suchasinabathtubinanartist’sstudio,notinariver.

Therewasahesitationbeforethemanagreed.“Gabrielispreposterous,Igrantyou,buthardlyworthy

ofstandingnighhip-deepinfast-movingwater.”

Anotherpause,filledbyaheadybreezethatracedthroughthetoweringoaktreesonhissideofthe

river.Rustlingtheleavesbentondyingjustasallthingsseemedtodo.“Wouldyoumindturningtoface
meorperhapscomeout?”heasked.

Didshedare?
She’daccomplishedwhatshe’dcometodo,butcouldsheturntofacetheownerofsuchavoice?She

frowned.ItsoundedasifheknewRossetti,whichwasacrueljoke.Rossettihadseemedamythicfigure,
paintingmadlyawayinLondon,creatinggloriousmasterpieces.Someoneshecouldonlyeverreadabout
inthenewssheets,now.

Butthisstrangerhadmethim.
Hadeveryoneexperiencedtheworldbuther?Butwhatif...Whatifthestrangerwastheanswerto

theprayershehadprayeduponathousandbrightstars?

Thatsomething,anythingwouldhappen.
Slowly,thebottomsofherfeetcarefullypositionedonthesmoothedstonesbelow,sheturnedtoward

him.

Theman...No,manhardlyseemedanappropriateword.Thedescendedgodorfallenangelstoodon

thebankincarelesssplendor.Hislong,wavy,darkhairbrushedhisshouldersandteasedatthehighshirt
pointsthathungscandalouslyopen,baringthefleshofhisstrongthroat.Along,blackdustercoatswung
abouthisHerculeanframe,addingtotheairthatseemedtoproclaimhegavenotonejotfortheworld.
Thebottlehangingfromhisfingertipsseemedtosuggesthehadbeenescapingthetoilsofthisworldfor
sometime.Justasshewishedtodo.

Buthiseyes.Oh.Hiseyes.
Twojagged,cutstonesofpurediamondblueshoneoutfromunderneathhiswide-brimmed,blackhat,

staringatherasifhecouldhookhersoulandpullitfromherverybody.

Astrange,painfulpullurgedhertoemergefromtheriverandgiveherselfuptohimasifhewere,

indeed,somesortofgodtowhichshemightoffersacrifice.

Iftheriverhadnotawakenedherbody,thoseeyesdid.Herskinachedsuddenly,thefleshdeveloping

themostdelicioustingle.Itwasabsurd.Shelickedherlips.“DoyoutrulyknowMr.Rossetti?”

“Ido.”Heliftedhisbottletohismouthandtookaswig.Henevertookhiseyesoffher,asifhe

expectedhertodisappearintotheairjustasthosefairycreatureshehadearliermadenoteof.

Shedecidedtoverifythestoryshe’dreadinthenewspaper.“Canhewalkonwater?”
Perhapsthismanknewifthearticleheldanytruthinit.HadGabrielRossettirescuedthefamous

model,ElizabethSiddal,fromahorriddrowningdeathwhilstposingforthenowlegendarypainting
Ophelia?Sheknewitwasunlikely,butshehadtoask.

Asheloweredthebottle,hecoughed.“Gabriel?Onlyifhe’stheAntichrist.”
Shescowled.
Athersolemncensure,hesmiledaslow-burningsmile.“No.Rossettiwouldsinkfasterthanastone.”
Herheartdroopedabitattheconfirmationofherpracticalconclusion.“Thenhedidn’tsaveLizzie

SiddalfromdrowningwhilstJohnMillaispaintedher?”

Dawningliftedtheman’sbrowslikedarkangels’wings.“That?No.Amarvelousbitofjournalism

meanttopaintRossettiastheherohesowisheshewas.”

“Ah.”Ophelianodded.“Isurmisedasmuch.”
She’dreadofhowart’smostfamousmodel,ElizabethSiddal,hadnearlydrownedintheicywaters

oftheThamesallinthenameofart.She’dbeenposingforMillais’compositionofOphelia.Thestory
hadclaimedthatRossettihadstormedintothewaterandpulledherfromawaterydeath.

Alltosh,ofcourse.
ThatdramatictalehadgivenOpheliapauseandshe’dbeenunableabletoignoreherdoubts.Atlong

last,she’dcometotherivertocheckhertheory.Thewaytheriverhadtuggedatherbody,urgingit
downstream,hadansweredherquery.

“ItwouldbeimpossibleforamodeltoremaininoneplaceintheriverlongenoughforMr.Millaisto

paintorsketchher,”shesaid.

“True.”Heeyedherandthentheriver.“Soyouaren’ttryingtotopyourself,then?”
“Ibegyourpardon?”sheexclaimed,shockedhewouldgivevoicetosuchanaccusation.
Heshrugged,aseductivelyeasygesturegiventhatrawpowerrippledfromhim.“Youarestanding

nighwaist-deep,fullyclothed,inariver.Onemightdrawcertainconclusions.”

“DoItrulylookdeterminedtodie?”shecountered,horrifiedanyonemightthinkshe’dsoentirely

givenup.Surely,hecouldn’tseethedarknessofherthoughts.

Hebithisfulllowerlip.Considering.“No.Butyoumustforgivemeforsayingthatthereisadecided

airofsadnessaboutyourperson.”

Herthroattightenedandshehadtofighttospeak.“Isthere?”
Noonehadeversaidsuchathingtoher.Everyoneelsehadalwayssaidhowwellshe’dborneup

undersuchcircumstancesasshe’dbeenhanded.

“Mmm.”Thestrangernarrowedhiseyes,studyingherslowlyfromthetopofherheadtowherethe

waterlappedatthegownnowplasteredtoherthighs.“It’salmostbeautiful,yoursadness.”

“Beautiful?”shescoffed.Thisdarkangelcalledherbeautiful?Wherewasthetrick?Sheknewquite

wellshewasonlypassingfair.Odd-lookingmightbethebetterphrase.

“Ihatetoadmitthetruthofit,butyoursoulresonates,mydear,withamelancholythatisquite

seductive.IfIwereabetterman,Ishoulddeterminetosaveyou.”

Adelicioushungertobeafoolishyounggirlsavedbythismandancedthroughherhead.How

temptingitwouldbe.Howdangerous.“Butyouarenot...”

“Wouldyoumindgettingout?”hesaidabruptly.
She’dlongedtosay,abetterman?Tohearhimconfesshiswickedness.“Pardon?”
“You’remakingmeexceedinglyuncomfortable.”Heshiftedonhisbootedfeetimpatiently,astallion

readytobolt.“Giventheautumnairwhichhascomeuponusandthesettingofthesun,thewatermustbe
cold.”

“Itis.”
Hiseyeswidened.“And?”
Shetiltedherchinup,unsureifshewishedhimtodisappearasquicklyashe’dcomeandleaveherto

herreverie.No...Thatwasnotwhatshewishedatall.“Andwhat?”

“Foryoutolinger,theremustbeanand.”
“Itfeels...”Sheglanceddownattheriverwaterswirlingpastherinitsstaid,ancientfashion,taking

inherownshadowedfacereflectedbythewater.Thenshelookedbackuptoherdarkangel.“Well,it
feelsasifI’vebeenembraced,ifyoumustknow.”

Shesearchedforwords,struckbytheoddityofsuchaconversation.Wherewerethebanalitiesthat

hadfilledherdays,evenwhileemotionhadstormedbeneathherplainwords?Shedrewinaslowbreath,
thensaid,“Bysomethingrathereternal.”

“OhGod,”hesighed.
Thatbrief,warmmomentshe’dfeltinthehopeofafamiliarsoulvanishedunderhiscondescending

noise.“Nowwhat?”

Heshookhishead,darkhairbrushinghisbroadshoulders.“IleftLondontoescapethisbloody

romanticismnonsenseandnowhereyouare,awalkingmanifestoofromanticism.”

“Justgothen.”Itwasstrange,theemptinessinherheartathisdismissalofherdaringadmission.

“Leavemehere.Iwasquitecontented—”

“Don’tyoudarelie.”Thatdarkbrowofhisseemedtothundernow,allmockeryabsentfromhis

person.Apersonwhichseemedtoclaimallthechillairaroundhim.“Thatisnotpartofyourmanifesto,
isit,Ophelia?”

“Howdoyouknowmyname?”shewhispered,buyingtime.Buyingbreathagainstthewayhisvery

gazeheatedherskinagainstthechillwaterslidingpasthertosomeunseensea.

“Mydear,whatothernamecouldyouhave,waist-deepinlanguidwater,thenameofJohnMillaisjust

uponyourlips?”

Shegaspedinunderstanding.
Hemeantthecharacter.FromShakespeare.TheyoungladywhodrownedherselfafterPrinceHamlet

forsookher.Asmilepartedherlips.Anunbiddengesturethatsurprisedherasgreatlyasherownsilly
fancythathehadsomehowknownherfromsomeeternalmomentthoughtheyhadnevermet.“Myname
actuallyisOphelia,ifyoumustknow.”

“Truly?”Nowasmile,devilishandhot,playedathisownlips.“Youdonotmakejestofthispoor

mortal?”

“Idonot.Andfromthecutofyourclothes,youarenopoormortal,sir,butoneofgreatesteem.”

Helaughed.Abooming,darksoundthatshouldhaveshakenthetreesandcalledThor’scloudstorace

inuponher.Theonlythingthatshookseemedtobeherusuallyfixed,analyticalresolvewhenitcameto
themasculinesex.

“Youarecorrect,”hesaid.
“AreyoulikeOphelia’sHamlet,then?Aprince?”
“ComeawayfromtheriverandIshallmakemyselfknown.”
“Ah,buthebetrayedherintheend,”shecountered.“Iammostlikelysaferintheriver.”
Adistinctlysoberlookdarkenedhiseyes.“Perhaps,butinbetrayingherhethrewawayanychanceat

happinessheeverhad.Forwhat?Toavengethedeathofhisfather?HeshouldhavechosenOphelia.”

Shewasbeingpulledagaintowardthisstrangeman.Herfootslidforwardovertheslickstones.She

wasdeterminedtolearnwhohewas,onehalfofherfeelingmadlikehernamesakeforfeelingnofearof
hispresenceandtheotherhalfterrifiedthatheshouldevokesuchfeelingssoquicklyinherunconquered
being.

“Good,myladyfair,giveupyourwateryabode.”
Opheliasquaredhershoulders,determinedthatheshouldknowshewasnofoolish,waveringmiss.

“Oh,sir,Ishouldnevermaketherivermyhome.Forunliketheladyofthestory,Ihavenotknownwhatit
istolive.”

Chapter2

Mysteriousmenarewellandgood

uponthepage.

Theyarenottobetrustedinlife

unlessoneisquitewillingtorisktheirsoul.

Ophelia’sNotebook

AndrewAnthonyWilliamEdwardColton,DukeofStark,clutchedthebottleinhisfistandstaredatthe
incandescentfaewomanintheriver.Hedidn’tknowwhethertocursetheheavensorgetdownonhis
kneesandthankGodthathisboyhoodfriend,AdamAshecroft,theEarlofEaston,hadnotbeenthereto
greethimwhenhearrivedattheestatethismorning.

BecauseifEastonhadbeenthere,Andrewwouldneverhavegoneforsuchalongwalktofortify

himselfbeforetheirmeeting.Andhemostcertainlywouldhavenevercomeacrosssuchagloriouslyodd
sight.

Stunnedbyherimmersionintheriver,heliftedthebottleofginandtookaswig.Ittastedfoulonhis

tongue.Oh,notbecauseitshockedhispalate.Hewasfartooinundatedinaseaofabusestobebothered,
butbecausethewomanintheriversuddenlystruckhimasatonicfarbetterthanwhatfloatedinthegreen
glassreceptaclefavoredbyartistsandthedamned.

She’dcertainlyprovedadistractionfromhisconcernsoverhisabsentfriend.
Theyoungwomanglidedslowlythroughtheswirlingwater,herdarkskirtsalmostblackasshe

slowlyemerged.Herred-goldhairhungdownherbacklikeliquidfireandahalooflightspunabouther
face.Atrickofthelightsurely,orhadhetrulycomeuponafieryseraph?

Thebrillianceofhergreeneyessuggestedthelatter.Infact,hehalf-expectedhertopullaglittering

swordoutofthewaterandproclaim,“Ihavecomeforyoursoul,sinner.”

Perhapshereallyshouldceasedrinkinggin.
Suddenly,herfiercecountenancesoftenedintooneofshock,andshesliddown,abruptlyplunging

beneaththesurface.Shehitthewaterwithasplash,dropsofliquidsprayingupintothecrispautumnair.

Foronehorrifyingmoment,herhandsflailedandherfieryhairlickedoverthewater.Hetossedthe

bottletothegroundandvaultedintotheriver.

Ittookhimonlyamomenttograbhershouldersandhaulherup.Awaveofcoldwatercrashedover

himandhisteethclackedtogether.

Asheliftedherfree,shegaspedforair.Herthickhairplasteredherfaceandhecarefullywipedit

awayfromherpalecheeks.

Shegaspedforair,herwholebodyshakingwithcoldand,likely,shock.Ahorrifiedlaughpassedher

lips.

Holdingherslightforminhisarms,hefelthisheartbeatsohardhewassureitwouldpresentlyram

throughhischest.

“Whatcouldholdsuchamusement?”hedemanded.

“Inearlymetmynamesake’sfate.”
“Yes,”hesaidcalmly,thoughhisbloodracedthroughhisveinswithfear.Ifshe’dslippedtoofaror

hitherheadonthestonesbeneath...He’dhavelostherbeforehe’devenknownher.Thatonethought
inexplicablyterrifiedhim.

“Opheliasshouldstayfarawayfromrivers,”hesaidsoftly.
Shenodded,dewydropsofwaterflickingfromherhair.“Ishallrecallthatinthefuture.”
Andrewsweptherupintohisarms,notgivingatinker’sdamnforthefreezingwaterthatsluicedhis

frame.She’dbeenmadasahattertodescendintothecoldwater.Nowthatshe’dbeenthoroughlydoused,
shesurelyriskedinfection.

Inafewpowerfulstrides,hehadherupontheloamybank.Thetreesthatarchedabovethem,their

branchesdelicatelywhisperingwiththeirfadingleaves,stillprovidedshade.Anunwantedthingat
present,becauseheandOphelianeededthelastwarmthofthesettingsun.“Doyoulivenearathand?”

“Afewmiles.”
“GoodGod,woman.Whatpossessedyoutocatchyourdeathsofarfromhome?Andwithoutanyone

heretomakesureyoudidn’tdrown?”

Shescowled,aseeminglyfavoriteexpressionofhers.“Andwhoareyoutoquestionmybehavior

aftersuchashortacquaintance?”

Heopenedhismouthtogiveatersereply,butnologicalonecametomind.Whydidhecare?Before

hecouldgiveitthought,hesaidsoftly,“Becausesomeonemusttakecareofyou.”

Sheopenedthenclosedhermouth.Herscowlsoftenedforthehintofamomentbeforeshesaid

tersely,“Anddoyouproposeyourself?”

“Atthistime,Iamtheonlyonepresent.”
“Icantakecareofmyself,”shesaid,defiantlysquaringherchin.
Ah.He’dhitanerve.“Ihavenodoubt.Butdoyounotgrowexhaustedfromsuchendeavors?”
Shebroughtherhandtohermouth,coveringherpinklips.Suddenly,hershockinglyemeraldgaze

shimmeredandsheglaredathimasifhiswordshadbeenbladesmeanttocutherheart.

So,thatwasit.Noonetookcareofhisfieryseraph,andshewasoverwhelmed.“Comeonthen,

Ophelia.Fornow,you’lldoasIsay.”

Shearchedaredbrow.“ShallI?”
“Mmm.Youshall,becauseit’shightimesomeoneshoulderedwhatevergreatburdenitisthatyou

carry.”

“You’reaperfectstranger.”
“Icameuponyouforareason,orareyouoneofthosestrange,modernpeoplewhobelievethatallis

atrandom?”Hestrokedbackalockofdamphairclingingtohercheek.“Thatthereisnoorderandthat
thesoulisafigmentofourdesperatepiningsformeaningtoourseeminglymeaninglessworld?”

“Youspeakthewordsofapoet,”shewhispered.
“Andyoushallhaveconsumptionifwedon’tgetyououtofthesesoakedgarments.”Hesetherdown,

makingcertainherfeethadfoundpurchaseuponthesoftearthbeforeturningherandworkingatthe
lacingsofhergown.

“Whatareyoudoing?”shegasped.
“Ensuringyoudon’tdieofexposure.”
“Bytakingoffmyfrock?”
“Yes,andgivingyoumycoat.”Hisusuallysurefingersstumbledoverthelacings.Howmanywomen

hadheextricatedfromtheirfarmoreelaborateclothes?Morethanhecouldeverrecall.Butthiswoman?
Trepidationdumbedhismovements.“ThenIshallseeyouhome.Isthatacceptable?”

Shehesitatedthenreplied,“Itseemslogical.”
“Iamnothingifnotlogical,”heteased.

“Isomehowdoubtthat,sir.”
“YourGrace,actually,”hecorrected.
“Ibegyourpardon?”
Slowly,carefully,painfully,heworkedthelacesofherbodice,notdaringtoallowhisfingersto

wanderoverherdelicatebackasheexposedherflesh.Witheachinchofdampundergarmentheexposed,
hefoundhisbrainflyingoffandsomethingquitedifferenttakingoverhisactions.Anditwasn’texactly
lust.Lustheknewquitewell.Thisburningwasnotjustoneofbodilydesire,butthemystifyingpossibility
thathehadfoundabetterreflectiontohisdamagedsoul.Couldfatebeatworkhere?Thecircumstances
certainlywereremarkable.

Heleanedin,bendinghisheaddowntoaccommodatefortheseveralinchesofdifferenceintheir

heightsandwhispered,“TheDukeofStark,ifyoumustknow.”

Shetensedbutdidn’tpullfromhisgrasp.“Howfortunateforyou,mylordDuke.”
Thefabricofhergownpeeledawayfromhercorsetandchemise,whichhadbecometransparent.He

achedtosliphisfingersbeneaththethinfabricandcaressthedelicateskinofherback,butherefrained.
“Yes,itis.IpromisedwhilstyouwereintherivertotellyouwhoIam.Noprince,alas.”

Hershouldersstraightened,astrangepricklinessgivingherbodystarch.“Princes,Ishouldthink,are

farandfewbetween.”

“Soaredukesandlords.”
“Lordsseemtobeeverywhere,”shecountered,abrittlenotetohervoice.
“Youknowmany?”
“Iknowenough.”
“Enoughtohaveclearlyharboredanunfavorabledispositiontowardthem?”heobserveddryly.
“Please,justcontinueonwithyourtask.”Sheshivered.Adelightfuldisplayofchilledskinmirrored

whatshemightlooklikewhenovercomewithdesire.Itwasadamnedappealingimage.

Heteasedhisfingersalongthebaseofthewoolbodice,inchingitawayfromherwhitecorsetand

chemise,slidingitdownherarms.“Youcancontinuetocallmesirormister,ifitgivesyoumore
pleasure.”

Shetossedherheadatthat,herhair,thecolorofthesettingsun,flyingoverhishands.“WhatIcall

youdoesnotchangewhoyouare.”

Thefeelofherslightlywet,silkenlocksstolehisbreath.Thewaist-lengthstrandsspilledoverhis

fingers.Helongedtowindthemwithhispalm,griphernapeandtakehersweetnessinawickedkiss.“I
supposenot.WhatshallIcallyou?”

“Ophelia,ofcourse.”
Hefrowned.Therewasmoretohername.Hefeltcertainofit.“Yes,but—”
“PlainOpheliawilldo.”
“Youcouldhardlyeverbecalledplain.”
Shesnorted.“Youarefallingintoamostdrabtext.”
Forcinghisfingerstomove,hewenttothehookandeyeatherwaist,easingthefabricawayfromher

trimmiddle.Herhandscameuptograbthedarkmaterialandshepulleddownward,revealingherwhite
petticoats.Andhestilled,unabletomove,barelyabletosay,“ItistheoneIknow.”

Shelaughed.“Youshouldreadmore.”
Helethisfingerstrailfromherheavyskirtsastheyfelltotheearth.“Mywordscomefrom

experience.”

“Ifthosearethewordsofyourexperience,”shesaidlightly,“Ipitythepoorfemaleyouhavebrained

themwith.”

Thoughsheteased,therewastruthinherjest.Whathadsoframedheragainstlords,ormen,forthat

matter?Hereachedoutandgentlyplacedhishandonherbaredshoulder.“Youdohaveclaws.AndIso

bravelydaredtherivertopullyouout.”

Shetsked.“Perhapsyoushouldhaveleftmetomylot.”
Heturnedherslowly,gazingdownather.Wishingthattheycoulddispensewithallthearmorshehad

soquicklyplaceduponherheartandsoul.Wishingthathehimselfdidn’thavesuchawallofironabout
hisownheart.Wisheswereforfools.

“Icouldnotletsuchapreciousjewelasyoudrown.”
Sherolledhereyesandsaidtightly,asuddenverbalshieldicingherwords,“Youhavereturnedto

yourboringtext.Idonotcareforhyperbole,sir.”

Hecouldn’thelphimself.Shewassounliketheotherwomenofhisacquaintance,fancifuland

strange.Helikedher.Andrewgazeddownatherthroughheavy-liddedeyes,theairaboutthemgrowing
tangiblewithhisgrowingdesireforher.

Sheflushed,headyathisnearness.Whethersherealizeditornot,shetiltedherheadbackslightly,her

lipsparting,baringtheslightesthintofpinktongue.“Youareso...”

“Handsome?”heteased.
“Odd.”
Andrewdrewhertohimquicklyandloweredhismouthtohers.Unthinking,hetookherlips,kissing

withasoftnesshehadnotfeltinadecade.Itmadenosense,thedesiretomeldherbodytohisown.

Thetasteofherwassweet,mintleavesandunsurety,asshegaspedagainsthisboldness.Herhands

grippedhisarms,hardatfirst,butthensheyielded,herbodypliant.

Apleasuresogreathecouldscarcecountenanceitoverwhelmedhim.Sheseemedasifshewasthe

suddenandastonishinganswertohisunknowingpleasthathefindsolaceinthisbrokenworld.Andhow
couldheeverletthatgo?

Chapter3

Loveisathingmostwishedfor,andyet

whatwewishforburnsuswithafiresosharp

itdestroys.

Tobeconsumed,whowouldwishsuchafate?

Ophelia’sNotebook

Opheliaburnedandfrozeatonce.Hercoldgarmentschilledherskinasacoolbreezeblewdownthe
river,butoh,theheatofhim.Aperfectstranger?Thetouchofhishandspossessivelypressedtoherback
andthesoftroughnessofhiskisslitherablaze,threateningtoturnherbodytocinder.

She’dbeenkissedbyafewboys,neighborlordlingscometovisitherfatherandevenoncebythe

blacksmith’sson.Eachandeveryonewaspartofherquesttofeelsomethingmorethantheplacid,
ongoing,never-endingmonotonythatwasherlifeinSussex,butthis?Thiskissdestroyedthesignificance
ofanyofthoseotherkisses,exceptperhapsthattheyhighlightedthemasteryofthisduke’skiss.

Andthatshedidn’tlike,evenifherbodysoclearlydid.
Evenso,surely,shecouldventurealittlefurther,ifonlytosateherneedforknowledge.Ifonlyto

experiment,asshehadnotbeenallowedtodonowforsometime?So,sheopenedherkisstohim.His
tonguedidn’tthrustbutseduced,teasingtheinsideofhermouth,featherlight.Amesmerizing,breath-
stealingsetofsmall,delicate,yetinfinitelymasculinetouches.

Shegaspedandwasstartledbyhowherbodyrespondedfavorablytotheslighttasteofjuniper

berries,thescentoflemonandtheeversolightscentofgin.Afainthintofthestallionhe’driddenthis
morninglingeredonhisclothes.

Herheartacceleratedinherchest.Thinkingofhim.Riding.Wild.Hard.Hisslightly-too-long,black

hairtangledbythecrispair,hiswickedbodyworkingatonewiththeanimalbeneathhimastheyhadtorn
acrossthestonylandscape.

Hepulledbackgently.“Whatareyouthinking?Yourheart...Itracesagainstmytouch.”
Shestaredupintohisseductiveeyes,temptedtopushhimaside,temptedtolie.Instead,shesaid,her

voiceshockinglydeeptoherownears,“You.Riding.”

Sheblinkedasanimageofhimcameunbidden.Thepowerofhisbodyoverhers,strippingher

clothesfromheruntilshewascompletelybaredtohim.Andthenhewouldrideher,hardandfastand
sure,takingherawayfromeverything,lettingherloseherselfinhisdarktalents.Draggingherdownto
somethingdarker,somethingfarmoreinescapable,andallintheguiseofpleasure.

Ruination.
PerhapsithadbeenamistaketoreadFannyHillwhenshe’dbeenagirl.Ithadcertainlygivenhera

widearrayoffantasies,suchashisridingher,tochoosefrom.Butthat’sallshecouldhave.Fantasies.
Shecouldnotembracewildabandon.

Asifhecouldreadherthoughts,astunnedbreathpassedhislipsbeforehewhispered,“Ridingyou?”
Suckinginalargeswallowofair,shepulledaway,herhandsshaking.

“Forgiveme,”hesaid.
“No.Thosewere,indeed,wheremythoughtsprogressed.”
“Doyouwishit?”Hestudiedhercarefully,assessingher.“Formetomakelovetoyou?Youdonot

seemsuchayoungwoman.”

Asoul-achingpartofhercriedout,Yes.Itdidn’tmatterthatsheknewhimnotatall.Sheneededto

feel,tobecompletelyaliveinthistimeofsorrow,and,surely,hecouldgivethattoher.Butsheshookher
head.“Itisathingonlyofdreaming.”

“Thenwhywake?”hetempted.
Shelaughed,aforcedsound.“Mydreamshaveleantthemselvestonightmaresoflate.Itisnotathing

Iwishtodwelluponforfearthatallthisshalltwistintosomethingnotpleasantatall.”

“Iwouldneverwishathinguponyou.So,Iwilltakeyouhome?”
Shenodded,pressingherlipsintoarigidline,lestshebeghimtotakeherawayfromhereentirely.

“Pleaseturnaround.”

Hehesitatedbutthendidassheasked.
Quickly,silently,shestrippedofftheremainingelementsofhergarments,whichwerenowdripping

upontheloamyground.

Heheldouthisgreatcoat,hisheadturnedtotheside,intentuponhelpingherintohisclothes.

Hesitantly,shestudiedthesoftfabricandthesilkliningasifitweresomethingnotbenevolentatall,but
rathersomethingwhichmightstealhersoul.Somehow,itseemedifsheallowedhimtoputitonher,he
wouldenvelopher.Notjusthisgarment.

Sheshookthefoolishthoughtaway.
Theheavyfoldsofwoolslidoverherarms,thenenvelopedherbody.Hestoodbehindher,his

presencejustasheavyaweightuponherashiscoat.Shefoughtthedesiretoleanbackandrestherhead
againsthischest.Thecoatdraggedupontheground,denotingthemanyinchesthatvariedtheirheights.

Shepulledthefoldstighter,abarrieragainstthewindandhim.Buttheclosershepulledthegarment

abouther,theclosershefelttothestrangeduke.

Thecoatcradledherinhisscentandcaressedherbodygently,justashishandshaddone.Justafew

momentsbefore,thesilklininghadstrokedhishardlimbs,touchedhismuscledchest,andgivenshelterto
hisbroadshoulders.Nowitshelteredher.

Inexplicably,tearscametohereyes.Forthefirsttimeinaverylongtime,shefeltprotected,evenifit

wasbythismanwhoexternallyseemedarakeandadangertoanyyoungwomanwhomighthandhertrust
overtohim.

“Thankyou,”shesaid,determinedtobreakthesilence.
Hebowed.“Now,wheredoyoulive?”
Herstomachtightenedintoaknot.Ifshecouldhave,shewouldhavelefthimhere.Shedidn’twishto

drawhimintotheworldshedweltin,wherehewouldseehowsmallherlifewas,howsadithad
become.“Youdon’t—”

“Ido.Besides,Ishallwantmycoatwhenyouaredonewithit.”
Itwasaweakexcuseonhispart.Howeasyitwouldbetosimplyhaveaservantfetchitforhimata

latertime.Butitwasclearheintendedtoescorther.Shesimplywalkedupthebanktowardthenarrow
paththattraceditswaythroughtheancientoakforest,wonderingwhatbizarremysterynowmightflyinto
herlifewithadukeintow.

***

Thesmallcottagewasnotwhathe’dbeenexpecting.Infact,itwasonlyonestorywithwhatappearedto
beapokyattic,crownedbyathatchedroof.Withitsreddoorandred-paintedwindowshutters,hehalf-

believedhe’dbeentransportedintoaGrimms’fairytale.

Itwasbarelyindecentrepair.Thethatchlookedinneedofnewreedsandthewhitewashwas

beginningtochipinseveralplaces,likeaonce-lovedchild’sdoll,itsporcelainfading.

HeassumeditwasonEaston’sestate.Ifso,hewasgoingtohavetohaveawordwithhisfriendabout

beingasufficientlandlord.

HestoleaglanceatOphelia.Thiscouldhardlybeherhome.
Shegavehimatightsmileandrusheduptothenarrowdoor.Apparently,shewasabouttopulloffhis

coat,despitethefactthatatraporfarmermightpassdownthedeeplyruttedlanethatpassedbeforethe
cottage,thrustitathim,andsendhimoffintotheworld,completelyunwisertothecocoonthatwasher
home.

“Willyounotinvitemein?”Heeyedthechimney,blacksmokeswirlingupintotheair.“Ishouldlike

tomeetyourparentsandperhapswarmmyhandsbyyourfire.”

Itwasdamnedrude,hispushing,buthefeltcompelledtopeekinsideherstrangelittleworld.Oneshe

clearlydidn’twishhimtosee.

Shefrowned,herfierybrowspressingtogetheroverhersharplygreeneyes.“Ifyouinsist.”
Hegrinnedinresponse,dislikingherdiscomfort,butdetermined.
Herpalehandtwistedtheblackironlatchandshestrodeintothenarrowhall.Histrailingcoat

brushedthewalls,thespacewassosmall,andhehadtoducktoenterbehindher.

Dimlightspilledinfromtheparlor.Thehall,bathedinshadow,ledtoaremarkablynarrowand

curvedstairthatlikelyascendedtotheattic.Giventheoutsideofthehouse,itwouldbebarelylarge
enoughforhisOpheliatodressin.

“Ophelia,dear?”
Shetensed,herredcurlsdancingoverhershouldersassheglancedtotheleft,tothesmalldoorway

leadingtotheparlor.“Coming,Mama.”

Withoutaword,shestrodeintothesmallroom.
Hestoodsilently,thenpursued.Whatelsecouldhedo,unlessheremainedlikesomeerrantfixturein

thehall?

Hehadnoideawhathewouldfind,butthesmall,fadedwomantakingupsolittlespaceuponaworn

chaiseloungetuckedbythefirewasnotit.Thewomanappearedold.FartoooldtobeOphelia’smother.
Sheseemedtobefoldedinonherself,adollofawomanwrappedupinathickquilt.Soft,silverycurls
framedherwrinkledface.Butthewrinklesandslightlyhardlooktotheolderwoman’sfeaturesdidn’t
seemlikethewearofalonglife.

Instead,itseemedillnessandthecruelhandofever-presentpainhadengraveditselfuponherface.
Herblueeyespeeredathim,thepupilslikepinpricks.Shesmiledsoftly,trusting.“Whoisthis?”
Hervoicewhisperedthroughtheroom,asfrailashersmallbody.
Shedidn’tevennoticeOphelia’sstrangedress.
Opheliakneltbesideherandcuppedhermother’sfoldedhandsinherown.“TheDukeofStark,

Mama.”

Theolderwomanblinkeddownatherdaughter,notunderstanding,butshewasclearlypleasedbyher

daughter’spresence.Thoseeyesofherslookedabout,butwereinastateofwakingdreaming.

Poppy.
Therewasnoquestion.Thewomanwasconsuminglargequantitiesoflaudanumwhich,ofcourse,

meantshewas,indeed,inagreatdealofpain.Ifhewascorrect,itcertainlyexplainedthetensioninher
faceandthewitheredstateofherbody.

Heshiftedonhisfeet,suddenlyrealizingthathisquesttoshoveintoOphelia’slifemighthavebeen

trulyill-advised.Hisownthroatwasclosinginthetinyspace.He’dtoldherhewishedtohelpshoulder

herburdens.Suddenly,hefeltunwilling,afraidofslippingbackintomemoriesofadifferentroom,ofa
differentillmother.Heswallowed.Amotherwhohadnotcaredforhimatall.

Opheliasmiledgently.“Iwaswalkingbytheriverandtrippedin.Ofcourse,Igotquitewet.Very

sillyofme,butHisGracehappenedalongandofferedassistance.”

“Ah.”Hermothernodded,findingnothingparticularlyoddinherdaughter’sunorthodoxactivities.

“Introduceus,mydear.”

OpheliaturnedherglancefromhermotheruptoAndrew.“LordStark,mayIpresentmymother,the

DowagerCountessLadyDarlington.”

Anythingwittyhemighthavehadtosaytotheolderlady—andhewasknownforhisabilitytocharm

suchcreatures—disappeared.Dowagercountess?ThatmadeOpheliaLadyOphelia.Whatthedevilwasa
dowagercountessdoinginsuchahovel?

Darlington?Hehadheardoftheearlbuthadnevercomeface-to-facewithhimortakenaninterestin

theaffairsofthatfamily.

Clearly,thepresentearlwasnotinterestedincaringforthelastearl’sfamily.Hebowed,determined

toshowrespect,andstretchedouthishandtowardOphelia’smother.

LadyDarlingtonplacedherpaperythinfingersinhisandallowedhimtobowoverherhand.“My

lady,itisapleasuretomeetthemotherofsuchacharmingandbeautifulyoungwoman.Youmustbethe
originofsuchblessings.”

LadyDarlingtonbeamedathiscompliment,apparentlycapableoffairlysharpobservationdespitethe

laudanum.“Terribleyoungman.IknowwhatasightIam.ButIappreciateyourkindnessallthesame.”
Sheheldontohishandwithasurprisinglyfirmgrip.“Ophelia,mylove.Teafortheduke.”

“Mama,Iamsure...”
“Ishouldlikenothingbetter,”hesaidquickly.
Opheliasenthimanotherquickscowlbeforestandingandheadingforthedoor.Sheraisedabrowat

him.“Nowdon’ttireherout.”

“Don’tfuss,mydear.I’vedonenothingbutnapallmorningasitis.”
Ophelia’sterseexpressionsoftenedintoagenuine,softsmileathermother,changingheremerald

gazeintoasortofgentleembrace.“Yes,Mama.”

Opheliadisappeared,andhewasleftstandingwiththedecidedimpressionthattherewereno

servantsinthissmallhousetolookafterthesewomen.WhichmeanthisOpheliaworkedlikeascullery
maid.Ithardlyseemedpossibleashebegantogodownthelistofthingsshelikelyaccomplishedinaday
tokeepthelittlecottagecleanandhermotherinasmuchcomfortaspossible.

“Now,sitdown.”LadyDarlingtontuggedlightlyathishand,indicatingthedarkbluestuffedchair

onlyafewfeetoppositeher.“Youareaveritabletowerofmasculinity,fartoooverwhelmingforanold
ladysuchasmyself.”

HeeyedLadyDarlington,receivingthedistinctimpressionthatshewasnotonlynotoverwhelmed,

butthatshewasonamissionofsorts.“Doforgiveme.”

Hetookhisseat,bendinghiskneesabitmorethanheusuallywouldinthehopeshemightfitinthe

toy-likeroom,thenwaitedforhertobegin.

LadyDarlingtonreachedforwardslightlyandpattedhishand.“Mydaughterisverybeautiful.”
“Sheis,”headmittedcarefully.“Thoughsheisnotclassicallyso,veryfewareasbeautifulasshe.”
LadyDarlingtonnodded,perhapstoherself.Herfingerslaylightlyonhis.“Shehasaparticular

dream.”

“Shedoes?”Andrewadjustedhisposition,wonderingwhattackthedowagercountesswastaking.

Surely,shewasnotabouttoproposesomesortofsuddenalliance.Though,giventheirobviouslypoor
financialstate—

Sheclearedherthroat,pulledbackherhand,thenfoldedherfingersprimlyinherlap.“Itisobvious

youareagentlemanofmeans.”

“Mylady—”
“Hushnow,”shereprimandedgently.“Imustsaythis.LordknowswhenIshouldgetthechanceagain.

Mydaughter’sdreams.Theyhavebeencrushedbymyillnessandtheearl,herhalf-brother’s,hateofme.
Shedeservesfarmorethantobemycaretakerandtoliveoutherlifeinthisbackofbeyondwithnoone
torecognizeher.”

Andrewpausedandcouldn’thelptakinginthesmallroom.WithOpheliaintheskirtsoftoday’s

fashion,thethreeofthemwouldbarelyfitintheparlor.Thechaiselounge,thechairhesatuponbythe
minusculefireplace,astoolinthecorner,andaminiatureroundtableofpolishedwalnutweretheonly
realpiecesoffurniturethattheroomcouldbear.Imaginationdidn’tallowforhowausteretherestofthe
housemustbesince,traditionally,theparlorwasthebestroom.“I’msureshedoesnotseehercareof
youaburden—”

“Shemaynot,butthatiswhatitis.WhenIfellill,OpheliahadbeeninLondon.She’dbegunwork

withMr.Ruskin,andtherewassometalkofherworkingasamodelwhilstshestudieddrawing.”

“Anartist’smodel?”heechoed.Someladiesdidmodel.Thesociallypowerfulandinfluentialart

critic,Mr.Ruskin,allowedhiswife,afixtureatcourt,tomodel,butsooftenprostituteswereused.Still,
Opheliahadalookthatonemightwishtoimmortalize.

“Youneedn’tsoundshockedatherdesires.Opheliahasasensibility,asoulwhichfewyoungwomen

heragehave.”AshadowcrossedoverLadyDarlington’sface.“Shefeelsmyillnessverydeeply.For
manyreasons.Yousee,sheistrappedbyit,andIthinkthathurtshermorethananything.”

Ophelia’scaptivatingmelancholymadealltoomuchsensenow.
Andrewdrewinaslowbreath,unabletofathomwhatthedowagermightpropose.Butitwas

undeniablethatahungertomakeOpheliafeelanythingbutthatsorrowhe’dseenwithinherwasbuilding
insidehim.Anditjustsohappenedthatnotonlywasheapatronoftheartsinhisownright,heknew
almostalltheartistsinLondonquitewell,includingtheinfamouscritic,Ruskin.

“Whatisityousuggest?”heinquired,stunnedbyherhonesty.
Sheleveledhimwithaseriousstare.“TakehertoLondonwithyou.”
Andrewblinked.“Thatishardlyappropriate.”
“Buggerappropriate,”shedeclaredpassionately.LadyDarlingtonshookherhead,asifdisappointed

inhim.“Icanseethatyouarehardlyanappropriateman,despiteyourtitle.Andthoughmysightmaybe
failingme,Idoseethewayyoulookather.”

“Andseeingthis,youwouldstillhavemetakeher?”hescoffed.“Youareaskingforyourdaughter’s

ruination?”

“No,”shecorrected.“Iamaskingforherliberationfromthispoorprison.WhenIdie,shewillhave

nothing.”Herhandsworriedattheblanketonherlap,betrayingthefearshefeltforherdaughter.“Not
eventhemoneytopayforthiscottage.Herhalf-brother,theearl,ensuredthat.Hehatesmesomuch,poor
man.Whatwillbefallherthen?”

ThewordsandbizarrelogiccomingfromLadyDarlingtoncouldhardlybecountenanced.Hewasnot

familiarwiththeircircumstances,butitwascleartheyweredireandthatOphelia’smothermostlikely
hadadiseasefromwhichshewouldnotrecover.And,apparently,thehalf-brotherwhodidhavethe
meanstorescuethemdidnotcareor,worse,purposefullymeantthemtolivethus.

Ithadtobeso,forwhatmotherwouldthrustherdaughtersoquickly,soassuredlyintothehandsofa

manwhomightuseherinanillmanner?“Madam,youdonotknowme—”

“Ido.”
“Ibegyourpardon?”Thatstoppedhim.Thesuretyofhervoicehadcutthroughtheroomas

confidentlyasanywell-testedblademight.

“Iseeinsideyou,YourGrace.”Asoftsmileplayedatherlips,onethatborealltoomuchknowledge.

Nocrushedflowerwasthiswoman.Inthatsmile,inherwitheringgazewasanunderstandingofthe
worldnotmanyeverobtained.“Iseethatyouwouldnothurtmydaughteranymorethanyouwould
destroyabutterflythatsettleduponyoursleeve.Youhavetheheartofagoodman.”

Andthesoulofonewho’dleftthatgoodheartbehindlong,longago.Yethecouldn’tfindthestrength

todashherplea.“Thisismadness.”

“Youlookatrifletouchedbylunacy’sbrush.Givensuch,Idonotthinkamadventurewilldeteryou.”

Asilverbrowarchedinchallenge.“Infact,itappealstoyou.”

Washethattransparent?Wasitsoclearthathesearchedforanythingtofillthevoidthathadbecome

hislife?Heglancedtotheopendoor,half-expectingtoseeOpheliathere.

Beforehecouldallowhimselftothink,toweightheconsequences,hespoke.“Iwilldoasyouask.”
AdeepsighpassedLadyDarlington’sthinlips,herwholebodyeasingfromthetensionthathadheld

itsorigidly.“Thankyou,mylord.Mygratitudeissogreat,Idon’tthinkIcouldeverconveyit.”

“Donotthankmetooquickly,”hewarned.“Wehavenoideahowthisschemewillplayout.Or

whethershewillaccept.”

“Oh,shewill.Ifit’sthelastthingIdo,mydaughterwillnotdieherewithmeinthisforgottencorner

oftheworld.”

Andatthosewords,heknewhecouldn’tleteitherofthemdiehere.Notwhilehe,too,hadbreathin

hisbody.

Thingswereabouttochange.
Forallofthem.

Chapter4

Salvationalwayscomes

atacost.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Opheliagrippedtheteatraywithbothhands,staringdownatthecakethatwasonlyslightlylargerthana
crumb.She’dbeenlookingforwardtoherLilliputian-sizedslice,butshe’dgiveitovertotheduke,ashe
wastheirguest.Still,itirked.Shewantedhimtoleaveandtoleavequickly.Surely,whenhedeparted,
herstrangefeelingofunease,thatsparkofatraitorouslongingforsomethingdifferent,woulddisappear.

Andshewantedhercake.
Butpeoplecouldn’thaveeverythingtheywanted.She’dlearnedsuchthingstheveryhardway.Why,a

fewmomentsintheirtattyhomeandhe’d,nodoubt,departwithoutanyurgingonherpart.

She’dseenitamongthemembersoftheiroldlife,gentlemenandladieswho’dknownthemwhenthey

livedinagrandmanorhouseinDevon,hostingballs,fetes,andhuntingparties.Allthoselordsandladies
hadtakenonelookattheirhorridlittlerun-downcottage,twitchedtheirnoses,murmuredcondolencesat
theirreducedcircumstances,thendeparted,nevertobeseenagain.

Thisonewouldbethesame.
Forsomesillyreason,sheglanceddownatherplain,pale-bluefrockthatshe’dquicklyshruggedon

whilewaitingforthewatertoboil.Thecloth,drape,andcutweresoridiculouslysimplethatitpained
her.Thestitchingwasalsoslightlyaskew...Becauseshe’dmadeitherself,andshehadalwaysloathed
sewing.

Still,theyhadn’thadthefundsforamplecake,letaloneaseamstress,thisyear.Swallowingbackher

embarrassment,sheturnedthecornerwiththeteatrayandnearlystumbledatthesightofhermotherand
thescandalous-lookingdukeinseeminglysecretivediscourse.

LadyDarlingtonseemedpositivelyinvigorated.
Shegavehermotheracarefullook.“Youtwolookasifyouareplanningtooverthrowthecrown.”
Hermothergrinned.“Well,forgiveme,butVictoriaReginaisabittedious.”
Opheliasuckedinasharpbreath,unabletofindsuchacommentamusing.Certainthingsmightbe

expressedintheprivacyofone’shome,buthardlybeforeapeeroftherealm.Nomatterhowradicalhe
appeared.

“Mama,”shechidedgently.
TheDukeofStarkletoutabellowofalaughandstompedhisfootagainstthefrayedrug.
Thesmallporcelainshepherdsandshepherdessesadorningthemanteltrembledasheclaimed,“My

God,butyourmotheriscorrect.”

Opheliathrewhimarelievedglanceathisapprovalofherfrankmama.Whilehermotherhadspent

heryouthatcourt,Opheliahadnevermetthequeen.Ophelia’sfatherhaddiedbeforeshe’dbeenold
enoughtobepresented,thenPrinceAlberthaddiedandVictoriahadretreatedfromsociety.

“I’llhavetotakeyouatyourword,”shereplied.

Once,she’dsecretlylongedtowearcourtdressandbepresentedbeforethequeen,butevenifshe’d

beenable,hermamahadnotbeenanadmirerofVictoria’sstrictandhypocriticalmoralcode.Shehad
alsosaidthequeentreatedhersonsmostfoullyandthatawomanwiththatmanychildrenshouldbe
bloodygratefulandshowerthemwithlove,notconstantrecriminationsanddarkestmourning.

Thedukeeyedthetrayinhergripandstood.“MayIbeofassistance?”
“Hardlynecessary.”Hadhebeensippingathermother’slaudanum?Theybothseemedtohavegone

battyinthebriefmomentsshe’dbeenabsent.

Carefully,sheplacedthetrayonthesmallwalnuttable.Theminutepieceoffurniturestilltookupa

goodportionofthebackcorneroftheroom.Usually,shesatinthearmchairclosetothefire,wherethe
dukewasnowreseatinghimself.Buttoday,she’dhavetositadistancebackontheembroidered,
cushionedstoolandfightthedraftsthatwhistledthroughtheirstrangelittleabode.“Doyoutakemilkor
sugar?”

Henodded.“Both.Heapsofsugar.”
Opheliaswallowedandfoughtnottoletherdistressshow.Theydidn’thaveheapsofsugar.She

sneakedaglanceathermother,whomerelysmiledbackencouragingly.Shepouredthemilkinthewhite
andblueporcelaincupfirst,thenthesteamingblacktea.Grittingherteethatthesheerdecadence,Ophelia
thenplacedthreespoonsofprecioussugarintohiscup,carefulnottospillasinglegrain.

“Thankyou,”hesaidashereachedoutforthelibation.
Shepasseditcarefully,thenwentaboutpouringhermother’scup,addingmilkandtheremainderof

sugarinthesmallbowl.

Sheprayedhewouldn’taskformore.Theyhadnone.
“Thankyou,mydarling.”Hermothertookthecup,thesaucershakinglightlyinhergrip.
AsOpheliapouredherowncup,sanssugar,sheconsideredmilkbutdecidedtosavetheremainder

forthemorning.

Thedukestudiedherministrationsoverthetea.“Youareabravesoul.”Hetookasipofhisteaand

letoutacontentedsigh.

“AmI?”Shepeereddownattheplaintea,tryingtobegratefulshehadteaatall.Itwassocostly.
“Todrinkteaasitcomes.”
Shebitbackthereplythathe’dleftherlittlechoice.“I’vebeenattemptingtogiveupsweets.”
There.She’dalsoexplainedwhyshewouldn’tbeeatinganycake.
Hetookanotherhealthydrinkthenlookedup.HeglancedfromhermothertoOphelia,thenbacktohis

tea.Thestrangestlookcrossedhisswarthyfeatures,asifhisteadidn’thavethreespoonsofsugaratall.
“I’vemadeanassofmyself.”

“Mylord,”LadyDarlingtongasped.
“Myapologies,mylady,butI’vejustrealizedwhatahideousfauxpasIhaveperformed.”
Opheliastudiouslysippedfromhercup,wonderingwhatonearthhewasrabbitingonabout.His

uninvitedvisit?Well,soonthispainfulinterviewwouldbeover.Surely.Windsweptriversandromantic
conversationweremarvelous,butthis?Thiswastorture.

Herestedhiscupinitssaucer,hismischievousfaceshockinglysolemn.“Ishallhavealargequantity

ofsugarsentoverpost-haste,thisafternoon.”

Hermouthdried.Howcouldhehavedonesuchathing?Howcouldhehavepointedouttheir

poverty?“That’snotnecessary.”

“Oh,butitis,”hesaidgently.“Whensomeoneactslikeanoaf,asIhavedone,theonlywaytoredeem

one’sselfistosupplywhattheyhavesogreedilytaken.”

Herheartdidatraitorousandconfusedleap.Opheliasnappedhergazetothewindow.Cloudswere

gatheringacrossthesky,castingthesmallgardeninshadow.Rain.Rainwascoming.

Shestaredatthosecloudswithdesperation,horrifiedbyhercircumstances.Noonehadeverso

blatantlyaddressedthewantofherandhermotherbefore.Norhadtheyofferedassistanceorapologyfor
beingrude.

Gratitudeandshamewaltzedwithinher,butshewasuncertainwhichwasleading.
“Ophelia?”Hermother’ssoftvoicecutthroughthesilence.“Isn’tthatkindofHisGrace?”
Aspredicted,rainspatteredthewindow,dimmingtheviewoftreesandtheruttedroad.Sheglanced

backtothemanwhohadturnedherworldupsidedownsinceappearingontheriverbank,bottleinhand.
“Thankyou.Wearemostappreciative.”

Thewordsnearlystuckinherthroat,asdidthehumiliationofneedinghishelp.
“Asamatteroffact,”hehurriedon,likelytoavoidherdiscomfort,“yourmotherandIhavebeen

planningwhilstyouwerelaboringsoarduouslyoverourrepast.”

Nowonderhermotherappearedsoinvigorated.“Haveyou,indeed?”
Whathadthetwodevils—forhermothercouldbequitescandalousifgivenrein—beenplanning?
Opheliasneakedanotherquicksipofteabeforeplacingasliceofthefruitedcakeuponasmallplate

forhermother.Theroomseemedtobuzzaboutherasshefoughtarisingsenseofalarm.

Hermothertookthecake,madeasatisfiedsound,thensaid,asifitwerethemostnaturalthinginthe

world,“You’regoingtoLondonwithHisGrace.”

Thosewordsfelluponherears,rattlingherthoughtswiththeirabsurdity.Hermouthgapedinher

astonishment.Worsestill,inhershock,Ophelia’sgriprelaxed,andshedroppedtheplatebearingthelast
sliceofcakeontheredandbluewovenrug.Theircat,Wellington,dartedoutfromunderthesettee,
crouchedoverthemorsel,andbeganmasticating,aconqueringferalbeast.

“Blast,”shecried.Shefeltasstunnedaswhenshe’dslippedintheriver,herwitsflown.
“Didyouhear?”Hereachedforward,abouttotouchherarm,buthestoppedhimself.
GrowlsofpleasurecamefromWellingtonashequicklychewedthecake.
“Thecakeisruined,”sheprotested.
Starkleanedforward.“Nevermindthecake.”
“Butitwasthelastslice,”shereplied,tryingnottosoundlikealittlegirlunabletobelievethatshe’d

justbeeninstructedshewasgoingtoLondon.

“Ophelia,youneedn’tworryaboutcake,”hewhispered.“Youshallhaveasmuchofitasyoulikein

future,andIcertainlydon’tneedany.”

Sheblinked,hatingthattearsstunghereyesoversomethingsofoolishaslostconfectionary.Intruth,it

wasthestrainofthemonths,hispresenceintheirreducedcircumstance,andageneralfrustrationwiththe
worldwhichinspiredsuchsilliness.Shesniffed.“Idon’tunderstand.”

Herestedhiscupandsauceronhisknee.“YourmotherandIhavedecideditwouldbebestifyou

cametoLondon.YouwillresumeyourstudieswithMr.Ruskin.Ifhewillnothaveyou,Iwillarrangethat
youstudywithMillais,andIshallfacilitateyourmodeling.Ishallevenbringapistolsothatsomeone
likeRossettidoesn’thaveyounudeinatrice.”

Opheliagaped.HowhadhermotherconvincedLordStarkinthemeretimeithadtakenforherto

brewtea?

“Andyouarenottoworryaboutyourmother,forsheshallcomewithus.”
Startled,LadyDarlingtonsmoothedherslightlyshakinghandsoverherblanket.“Indeed?How

marvelous.”

Opheliablinkedthenstuttered,“S-sheisfartooillforustogo...”
“Iamnot,”hermothercutin.“AndIshouldratherbesurroundedbythebustleofLondonthanpassmy

lastdaysonthissetteestaringatthesametreesturningfromautumntowinterdayinanddayout.”

Itwasterriblyawkwarddiscussingthisinfrontofhim,butithadtobesaid.“Wecannotpossiblybe

beholdentothisman,Mama.”

“Whereisyoursenseofadventure,mydarling?Seizelifewithbothhands!”
“Youdidandlookwhathappened,”Opheliabitoutbeforeshecouldstopherself.Herparentshad

lovedeachother,butithadnotturnedoutwellforhermotherintheend.Thatcouldn’tbeignored.

“Yes,”hermothersaidquietly,hersofteyesaspeacefulanddeterminedastheyhadeverbeen.“AndI

hadfifteenhappyyearswithyourfather.Ialsogainedabeautifuldaughterfrommyboldness.”She
clearedherthroat.“Now,Ididn’traiseyoutobeafraidoflife,didI?”

StarkglancedfromLadyDarlingtontoOphelia,hisgazeatrifleunsure.“IthinkIshallleaveyoutwo

todiscussthis.”

Heswallowedthelastofhisteaandstood.Theroommighthavebeenoneinadoll’shouse,hissize

positivelydominatingtheroom.Bentslightly,lesthisheadbrushtheplasteredceiling,heplacedthecup
andsauceronthenarrowmantel.“Thankyouforthetea.”

Hescootedbetweenthefurnitureandheadedforthehall.
Opheliagavehermotheraninfuriatedlookbeforeshejumpedtoherfeetandfollowedthemadman

outintothecoolair.

“Whatareyoudoing,tauntingmypoormotherthusly?”shedemanded.
Hewhippedbacktowardher,hisfacefierce.
“Taunting?”heechoed.“Shepleadedwithmetosaveyoufromthisdrearylife.Andasitturnsout,I

agreewithher.Youwillwitherhere,Ophelia.Assheisdoing.”

Painhitherinabrutalwave.Wouldshewitherhere?Yes,yes,shewould.Opheliaopenedandclosed

hermouth,herthroatanagonizingvise.Atlast,shemanaged,“Sheisdying.”

“Yes.Sheis.AndshewishestogotoLondon.Toseeyouhappy.”
OhdearGod.Sheknewthatwastrue.Herhappinesswasallhermotherwanted.
Heglancedawayforamomentandwhenhelookedback,thosesharpeyesofhisblazedwith

unreadableemotion.“Tohavealittlebitofadventurebeforeshemustleaveyou.Doyouwishtodenyher
this?”

Howshewishedtoshout,No.Thatshewoulddenyhermothernothing.Butunlikehermama,shehad

adistrustoflords.Afterall,thelordsinherlife,herfatherandherhalf-brother,hadfailedher.How
wouldthisonebedifferentwhenthenoveltyoffindingheradventuringintheriverhadwornaway?“Why
wouldyouhelpus?”

Amuscleclenchedinhisjaw.“BecauseIcouldnotgivemyownmotherthehappinessforwhichshe

sohungeredwhenshestoodatdeath’sdoor.Iwillnotturnbackfromthischance.Ihopeyouwillnot.”

“But—”
“AcoachwillcomeintwodaystotakeyoutoLondon.Beonit.Donotdisappointyourmother.”He

paused,thenliftedhisglovedhandtohercheek,caressingiteversolightly,hisgazesoftening.“Donot
disappointme.”

Thenhewasoff,stridingdowntheroad.
Coatless.
Ophelianearlycalledouttohim,butcaughtherself.Thedevilwasonthatroad,urginghertothrow

herselfintohischasmoftemptation.

She’dalwaysknownthatonedayitwouldhappen.She’dsimplyneverguessedhertemptationwould

beintheguiseofsuchabeautifulman,bentonsavinghermotherandherselffrommisery.

Itcouldnotendwell.Forsurely,puttingherfutureintohishandscouldendonlyintears.Noonehad

apureenoughhearttohelpsoprofoundlyandaskfornothinginreturn.

Especiallynotwhenhiseyesstaredatherwithmoltenhunger.Heeyedherasastarvingmanmight.

Couldastarvingmandenyhimselfwhathesodesiredwhenitwasrightbeforehim?Wouldsheeven
wishtodenyhimwhenhelookedatherthusly?

Whatwouldbethecostofhishelp?Shewasfairlycertainsheknew,evenifhehimselfdidnotyet.

Wasshewillingtopayit?

Asshestudiedhisretreatingform,shiveringatthesightofhispowerfulbodyeatinguptheearth,she

wonderedifshewouldevenresistpayingthepriceorifshewouldsimplyhandoverthefeewithboth
hands,armsopen,fulloffoolishness,asallthewomeninherfamilyseemedtohavedone.

Chapter5

Afriendisaninvaluablething

untiltheyrunamok.

Ophelia’sNotebook

“Damnit,Stark.”ThevoiceofAdamAshecroft,EarlofEaston,boomedofftherococo,carved-wood
ceiling,fillingupthelonghalldespitethethickorientalrugsandmultitudeofmedievalwallhangingsthat
shouldhavemuffledthesound.“Idon’twishyouhererightnow.”

Andrewblewoutalongbreath,eyeinghisboyhoodfriend.Eastonhadgrownmoreandmoreabsent

thispastyear.“Andyet,hereIstand.”

Eastonstaredathimwitheyesharderthantheblackmarblethatformedthefireplacemantel.Hestood

silent,inapparentfury.

Andrewignoredthestance,hopingstillforsomekindoffriendlygreeting.
Severalmoreawkwardmomentspassed,buthedidn’trelentandtiptoeaway,ashewassureEaston

desired.Hewasheretomakehisoldfriendseereason.Ofcourse,hehadn’texpectedasumptuous
welcomeforhisuninviteddescentonthemassivemedieval,Tudor,andRestorationconglomerationof
toweringwingsthatwasLarksmoore.Still,hehadn’tquiteexpectedthisfrigidlackofcivility,whichwas
allthemorebleakincontrasttothehospitalityhe’dreceivednotanhourbeforeinacottagethatwouldn’t
dojusticetooneofthiscastle’sclosets.

Atlast,whenthesilencewasshownnottohaveaneffect,Eastondemanded,“Whydidyoucome?”
Andrewcamestraighttothepoint.“Iwasconcerned.”
Foramoment,Easton’sblackbrowslifted,ascowlpulledathislips,anditappearedhewasgoingto

makesomedisdainfulcomment.Instead,hisshoulderssagged.“Drink?”

“Yes.”Thewordcameoutsoundingfarmorerelievedthanhewouldhaveliked.Thatreliefdrove

homejusthowmuchtensionhe’dfeltinthisencounter.WhatthehellwaswrongwithEaston?

Hisfriend’sstrongfacesuddenlyseemedwornwithexhaustion.“Youshouldn’tbehere,oldman.”
Itwassooddtofindhimselfinthisposition.Andrewdidn’tusuallytakeaninterestinthelivesof

othersandinoneday,he’dtakenaninterestinthelivesofthreepeople.Whateverwasbecomingofhis
senseofennui?

“Ishouldn’tlookinonafriend?”heasked.
Eastoncrossedtothecarvedmahoganysideboard,liftedthesparkling,crystaldecanterandpoured

outtwoverylargebrandies.“Thishouseisnotaplaceforfriends.”Hehesitatedoverthesnifters.“Not
anymore.”

“My,howdramatic,”Andrewsaid,temptedtocrossthegreenandwhiteintricatelywovenrugand

drophimselfinoneoftheterriblyuncomfortablemedievalcarvedbenchesbythefire.Herefrained.
“HaveyoubeenreadingoneoftheBells’novels?WutheringHeights,orwasitJaneEyre?”

Eastonwhippedaround,hiseyesflashing.“Dobeserious.”

“You’reseriousenoughforthebothofus,Ithink.Vergingonthedramatic,infact.”Andrewmadean

exaggeratedwaveofhishand.“Broodingandallthat.”

CrossingtheroomandpushingoneoftheglassesintoAndrew’shand,Eastongaveatightnod.“I’ve

leftoffhappierdays.”

Andrewliftedthesnifter,thescentoftwenty-yearbrandysuddenlyspicingtheair.Once,Eastonhad

beenthemostmischievous,themostboisterous,andthefirsttolaughoftheirschoolset.Now?Theman
lookedasifhemightbesuitedforthepositionofundertaker.No.Notundertaker...Executioner.There
wasadangerousedgetohisoldfriendthathadneverbeentherebefore.“Easton,Icamehere—”

“You’regoingtoleavehereasquicklyasyoucame,”Eastoncutin.Anysofteninghe’dshown

vanished.Hisshouldersstraightenedandheliftedhissquaredjaw.

“Now?”Andrewdemanded,incredulous.
Eastongaveashrug.“Assoonasyoufinishyourdrink.I’dhatetobeacompleteass.”
SoEastonknewhewasbeingabastard.Andthatwasn’tchanginghisbehavior.
Andrewnarrowedhisgaze,unamused.“You’remyfriend.”
Eastoncockedhishead,oneblackbrowarching.“Andifyouwishtoremainmyfriend,you’llrespect

mywishesandreturntoLondon.Wecanmeetthereinafewdays’time.”

Andrewcouldhardlybelieveit.He’dtraveledhalfwayacrossEnglandtobesummarilytoldtoget

out.Aduke,beingsummarilydismissed.Andmore,Eastonclearlymeantwhathesaid.“I—”

“ThatisallIwillsayonthesubject.Acceptitandleavenowordon’texpecttoseemeagain.”
Andrewbitbackaharshretort.IfEastonwas,indeed,sodeterminedthatheshouldleave,whatelse

couldhedo?Hedidn’twishtodrivethemanoffwhenEastonsoclearlyneededsupport.Itwasacursed
situation.Ifonlyhehadn’tgrownsoclosetoEastonallthoseyearsagoinschool.Ifnotforthat,hecould
leavethedamnedbastardtohisownself-destructivedevices.“Iwillgoonlyifyoukeepyourpromise
andcometoLondonandseeme.”

Eastonnodded,capitulatingfasterthanAndrewhadexpected.Infact,Andrewhadn’texpectedEaston

tocapitulateatall.

“Ineedthechangeofscene,inanycase,”Eastonsaid.“I’vealreadybeendownheretoolong.”
“You’reactingstrangely,”Andrewventured.“Morestrangelythansomeofyourtenants,LadyOphelia

andhermother,LadyDarlington.”

“Ah.”Easton’sfacesoftenedforabriefmoment.“You’vemetourunfortunateladies,then.”
“Yes.Aftermeetingthem,I’dbeenunderthebeliefmydaycouldn’tgrowanymorecurious.”
AfainthintofamusementtuggedatEaston’slips.“Youweremistaken.Andthey’renotmytenants.

Theyliveontheneighboringestate.Iftheywereonmyland,theircottagewouldbeinadamnedsight
betterrepair.”

ThankGod.AtleastAndrewdidn’thavetoworrythatEastonhadbecomeaneglectfullandlord.Ithad

crossedhismindandhehadn’tbeencertainwhathewasgoingtosaytohisfriend.

Andrewglancedagainattheuncomfortablebenchesbeforethetoweringfire.“AmIallowedtosit?”

Andrewasked.

Itwasdamnedawkwardstandinginthemiddleofthemassivehall,drinkinhand.
“No,”Eastoncountered.“Youweresaying?”
Andrewgroundhisteeth,thentookastiffswallowofbrandytorelievehisirritation.“Doyouknow

anythingoftheladies?”

“OfLadyDarlingtonandherdaughter?”
Andrewnodded,tryingtocheckhisconsiderableinterest.
Eastonfrowned,thenshruggedhisshoulders.“MymotherofferedLadyDarlingtonahouseonthe

estate.Sherefusedbutacceptedmyneighbor’sofferofacottage.Theproudladyinsistedonpayinga

properrent.Sadly,Ihadnothingthatwasquiteright.Andsherefusedmymother’soffertosubsidizeher
rents.”

Clearinghisthroat,Andrewaskedcasually,“Whatelsedoyouknow?”
Eastonshookhishead.“OnlythattheyhavebeenforsakenbytherelativelynewEarlofDarlington.

I’venevermettheladies.Theylargelykeeptotheothersideoftheriverandneighboringestate.”

Liftinghissniftertohislips,Eastonpoundedbackhalfthecontents.“Ashamedoftheircircumstances,

Ithink.”

Andrewstaredathisbrandy,wishingitwasgin.Heneededtheharshnessofthatliquorovertherich

sweetnessofhispresentbeverage.“Iagree.Iwanttohelpthem.”

“Youcantry,ofcourse.Butdobecarefulinvolvingyourselfwithabeautifulyoungwoman.Lady

Opheliahasthereputationofared-hairedstunner.”Eastonsighedasifsaddenedbytheladiesoutofhis
domain.“Giventheirseclusion,howdidyoumeetthem?”

“Thismorning,afterdepositingmyluggageandfindingyouwereout,Iwentforalongwalk.”
“Averylongwalk,apparently,totheedgeoftheestate.”Eastoncrossedtothefireandproppeda

bootonthebrassgrate.

“Ihadnoideawhatfoulstormofamoodyoumightbeinandwishedtofortifymyselfwithfreshair

andabottleofgin.”

Eastongrabbedthepokerandthrustitattheburningwood.“Understandable.”
Andrewgaveatightsmile.Itwashardtoimaginenowwhyhe’dsetoutfromLondonthreedaysago

insearchofEaston.Rumorswerebeingtossedaboutlikewickedwordsatthedocks.Rumorsthattheearl
wasinvolvedwithadangerousgamblingset.Thekindofsetthatmightextractalimbifpaymentwasn’t
received.

ItwastrueheseldomsawEastonanymore,butonce,they’dspentthebetterpartofthelate-nighthours

ineachother’scompany.Therehadbeenmorethanafewnightsonthetown,absintheathandandafew
lightskirtswithwhomtodrinkit.They’dsharedacommongoal.Escapefromthedemandsof
disapprovingandbarelypresentparents.ThatlongagoclosenessmadeitimpossibleforAndrewto
simplyshakehisheadregretfullyatthoserumors.

FightingbackthedesiretocuttothequickandaskwhatthedevilEastonwasupto,hesaid,“Inany

case,Imetthedaughterwadinginyourriver.”

Eastonsnorted.“WhatinGod’snamepossessedyoutowade—”
“NotI,”Andrewcorrected.
“Thedaughter?”Eastonwassilent,thenadrylaughcrackedfromhisthroat.
Andrewgrinned.Hecouldn’tstophimself.SomethingaboutLadyOpheliamadeonefeelasifthe

worldwasfullofpromiseagain.She’devenmadeEastonlaugh.

“Yes,”Andrewacknowledged.
Eastonabandonedthefire,strodebacktothesideboard,paused,thenglancedbackoverhisshoulder.

Hiseyesnarrowed.“Howlongisitgoingtotakeyoutofinishthatdrink?”

“Aslongasittakes.”Hestillhadaquarterofaglass.
Eastongaveatightnod.“AndwhatdidyouthinkofLadyOphelia,then?”
Andrewtookadeepbreath,thinkinghowintimatehe’dbeenwithher.Christ,he’daskedherifshe’d

wishedhimtorideher.Hewantedit,thatwasfordamnedcertain.Andfromtheflareofinteresthe’dseen
inhergaze,hewasfairlycertainthatshedid,too.Onlyalifetimeofproprietyhadkeptherincheck.
“Whydoyouask?”

Shrugging,Eastonkepthisattentiononthedecanter.“Becauseatthementionofhername,yourentire

demeanorchanges.”

“Bollocks.”Herefusedtoacceptsucharidiculousidea.

Eastonpouredhimselfmorebrandy,thenturned,bracinghimselfagainstthesideboardwiththedrink

cradledinhispalm.

Andrewheldouthisnearlyemptyglass,whichEastonpointedlyignored.
Keepingtheglassoutstretched,Andrewchallenged,“Youdon’tactuallythinkI’mleavingwhenmy

glassisempty?”

“Ido,”Eastonsaidfirmly.
“Butsurely,Ishouldpaymyrespectstoyoursister.”
Eastontensed.Foronebriefmoment,helookedasifhemightshatter.Butthenthosedarkeyesofhis

grewcold.“She’snothere.”

Andrewfrowned.Thismorning,ashe’dstartedhiswalk,he’dseenayoungwomanwalkingthehigh

battlementsofthecastle.“IcouldhaveswornIsaw—”

“She’snothere.”
AndrewbalkedattheabruptharshnessofEaston’stone.“But—”
“Gohome,Stark.I’llseeyouinLondon.”Andwiththat,Eastontossedbackthecontentsofhisbrandy

andstalkedfromtheroom.

“Ihaven’tfinishedmydrink,”Andrewholleredinangryprotest.
TheechoesofEaston’sbootedfootstepsweretheearl’sonlyreply.
Staringatthedoorway,hecouldn’tstopthegrowingsensethathisfriendhad,indeed,involved

himselfinsomethingverydangerous.Andsomehow,itinvolvedhissister.

HecouldonlypraythatEastonwouldholdtohisword,cometoLondon,anddivulgesomeofthe

mystery.Perhapshecouldhelp.Perhapshecouldn’t.ButatleastthenEastonwouldnotfacewhatever
wasdistressinghimalone.

Contemplatingthetraceofamberliquidinhissnifter,heletoutasigh.Itwasawastedtrip.
Ophelia’sfieryhaircametomind.
No.Notwasted.NothingthatinvolvedLadyOpheliaandhermothercouldeverbeawaste.Ofthat,

hewascertain.

DespitetheaggravatingmeetingwithEaston,asmilepulledathislips.Soon,Opheliawouldbein

London.Inhishome.Afterhe’dspentsomuchtimeuninspiredbytheeventsoflife,itwasawonderfully
intriguingthingtoanticipate.

***

Opheliaracedacrossthefield,thelateafternoonsuncastingthefallowearthinagoldenhue.She
couldn’toutpacetheturmoilwithinher,nomatterhowhardshepushedherfeet,thenarrowsolesofher
shoesbeatingagainstthefrozenearth.Despitethecrispairwhippingthroughherthincloak,shedidn’t
feelthecold.

Thelastday’seventshadheldmoreadventureinthemthanthelastseveralyearscombinedandshe

couldn’tstopthinkingofhim.

Theduke.
Ofhisdarkhair,duskyskin,roughrumbleofavoice,andthewayhehadtouchedher.Shecouldnot

puthimorthemadofferhehadmadefromhernowwildthoughts.

Surely,thelaudanumhadaddledhermother’sthoughtstomakeherbeso...Bold.
Sheslowedherpace,approachingthethickcopseofoaksattheendofthetilledearth.
No,hermotherhadalwaysbeenbold.Theboldestwomansheknew.Forshehadletnothingstandin

herwayinthepursuitofloveandherfather.Howmanywomencouldsaysuchathing?Few.Veryfew.
Mostdidwhateversocietyortheirfatherorbothhaddecided.

Hermotherhadtakenwhatshewanted.

Now,itseemedthatboldnesshadcomealiveagain.
Opheliapressedahandtohermiddle,unabletodrawadeepbreath.Thebonesofhercorsetdug

throughherchemiseandshewinced.

Couldwomenneverbetrulyfree?
Hermotherseemedtohavefoundaway.
CouldshegotoLondon?Couldshegototheduke?Wasittrulypossibletobeginlifeanewafterso

longlivinglikeabulbshoveddeepintheautumnearth?Hadshesurvivedadarkwintertospringintothe
sunshine?

Slowly,sheturned,eyeingthestilllandscape.Itwasbeautifulandlonely.
Afigureemergedfromtheoaks.Theyoungwomanwaved,smiling.
ArelievedsighpassedOphelia’slipsassherecognizedtheyoungwoman.Sheneededtheearof

Charlotte.

Inthelastyearsshehadhadnofriends,butrecently,she’dmadetheacquaintanceofoneoftheEarlof

Easton’shousekeepers.Theearlemployedtwoforareasonthatsheandhermotherhadalwaysfound
quiteodd.Yet,theyhadnotbeensorudeastoeverquerythewhysofsuchathing.Sheandhermother
didn’tliveforgossipassomanydid.AndOpheliaquiteadmiredheronlyfriend.

CharlottePricewasasdowntoearthastheycame.
Shesupposeditwaswhyshehadhurriedoutintothelateafternoon,hopingtocatchsightoftheyoung

womanshehadbeguntocallfriend.

CharlottePricewasawalker.Withoutfail,shewalkedeveryday.Alwaysatthesametimeand

usuallyalongsimilarpaths.

Itwasoneofthepeculiaritiesofheroddposition,asfarasOpheliacouldtell.Inherexperience,it

wasuncommonforaservanttobeallowedanhourortwotoescapetheirplaceofemploymentdaily.In
fact,itwascompletelyunheardof.

Still,Eastonwasodd,soshehadsimplytakenCharlotte’smarchingacrossthecountrysideasaboon.
Asshepickedupherpaceagain,crossingtoherstrangecompanion,asoftmistbegantodescend.
Shegaveitnonotice.Shewastoodrivenbyherinnerthoughtsanddesirestoexpressthem.
Charlotteliftedahandtoherdarkgraybonnetthenfrowned.Herbrighteyesquicklyassessed

Ophelia.

“Isaughtamiss?”Charlotteaskedquickly.“Yourmother?”
Opheliashookherhead.“Sheisasexpected.”
“Iamrelieved.”Charlottecockedherheadtotheside,herblondehaircurlingaboutherelfinface.
ItseemedtoOphelia,thatCharlottehadthesortofhairthatnomatterhowoneattemptedtocontrolit,

onewouldlosethebattle.Itwasquiteunlikeanyotherservant’shairthatshehadseen.

Charlotte’sbrowfurrowed.“Whatisitthen?Youlookasifyouhaveahellhoundafteryou.”
Opheliabitherlowerlipbeforeadmitting,“Worse.”
“Goodness.”Charlottegesturedtothebarrelvisiblepath.“Letuswalkandtalk.Ifindthatisalways

best.”

Opheliadidnotalwaysfollowthisformofexpression,butsheunderstoodthatCharlottecouldn’tbe

stillandcouldn’texpressherselfwithoutthedistractionofmovement.

Theywereoppositesinmanyways.
Perhapsthatwaswhytheycouldbefriends.
Astheytookthebarely-groomedpaththroughtheforest,toavoidtheheavymistwhichsettledontothe

field,sheballedherglovedhands.Howdidsheexplainwhathadtranspired?

“Outwithit,”Charlottepiped.“YouclearlywishtotellmeandIcanveritablyhearthewheelsof

yourbrainturningatafranticspeed.”

“MymotherwishesmetogotoLondon,”Opheliablurted.

“That’sunsurprising,thoughIunderstandifyouwishtostaywithheratthistime.Itwouldbevery

difficulttoleaveher.”

“Shewishesmetoacceptthatpatronageofaman.”
CharlottewhippedhergazetoOpheliawithoutstopping.“Ibegyourpardon.”
“Aduke,”Opheliaclarified,forsheknewitwouldonlyaddtothestrangenessofitall.
Charlotte’seyesflaredbutshekeptmarchingforwardovertheuneventerrain,herstepassureasany

mountaingoat.

Opheliarushedtokeepinstep,herhandsgrabbingherskirtsuptokeepthemfromtanglinginthe

undergrowth.

“Patronage,”Charlotterepeatedtightly.
“HeknowsMr.Ruskin,”Opheliaexplained.Shehadnoideahowanyofthismightsoundacceptable

forapracticalyoungwomanlikeCharlotte.

“AndGabrielleRossetti,”Opheliaadded.
“Mygoodness.Adukewhocaresformorethandogs,shooting,andgovernance.”
AtentativelaughtumbledoverOphelia’slips.Thensherepliedruefully,“Isuppose,yes.”
“What,then,isyourdilemma?”Charlotteinquired,hervoiceunwavering.
“HowcanIgo?”sheprotested.
Charlotteabruptlystrodeoffthepath,intothedeeperforest,unafraidandclearlyawareofher

direction.“Andleaveyourmother?”

“Hehasofferedtobringher.”Opheliafollowed.Shetoohadwanderedthesewoodsandshecould

understandCharlotte’saffinityforthetangledparkland.Evenshewasbeginningtofeelhersensescalm
undertheancientbranches.

Charlotteliftedherhead,hergazestraightaheadasthoughshehadnofearoftripping.“Ifailtosee

whatissueyoutakewiththearrangement.”

Opheliablinked,stunned.“Youdon’t?”
“Youwillhavewhatyoualwayswished,”Charlotteexplainedfactually.“Timewithartistsasan

artistyourselfandyourmotherwillchaperoneyouasbestshecan.Until...”

OpheliaclearedherthroatunwillingtofinishCharlotte’ssentence.
“Youmakeanexcellentpoint,Charlotte.”
Charlotteflashedagrinoverhershoulder.“Iamfullofexcellentpoints.”
“Butwhatifallhedesiresisformetobehismistressintheend?”
Charlottetookthecommentwithoutanyevidenceofshock.
ItsurprisedOphelia,forshewouldhavethoughtthatCharlotte’smoralrectitudewouldhavemade

suchawordasmistresstobeshockingintheextreme.

“Doyouthinkhedoes?”Charlottequeried.
Forthefirsttime,shefelthesitant.Whileshehadreadoflovemakingandexperienceditslightly,she

hadn’treallyspokenofittoanyfriend.“He-Hekissedme.”

Charlottenoddedasshesteppedoverafallentree.“Thenyourconcerniswarrantedinthatregard.”
Opheliafeltherheartgrowheavy.“ThenIshouldstayhere.”
“Itdepends,”Charlottereplied.
Herresponsewasn’ttheoneOpheliahadexpectedandshestumbledeversoslightlyoveralow

branch.Assherightedherself,sheasked,“On?”

“Howmuchtheideasofmoralityanddecencymeantoyou.Fortheyaresimplyconstructs.”Charlotte

spokequickly,withforce.“Ideascreatedbysociety.Andtruthfully,atpresent,theyseemverymuchto
makethelivesofwomen...Miserable.”

Charlottehadneverbeensoblunt.
“Areyoumiserable?”Opheliasuddenlyasked,unabletostopherself.

“Youare.”Charlotteansweredinstead.
“Iamnot.”
“Youare,”shedeclaredadamantly,“forgoodreason,butisnotjustyourmother.”
“Andyou?”Opheliasaid,refusingtobedistractedfromherquery.
“I...”Charlotte’spaceslowedandshegrewdistantasifherthoughtshadsuddenlyflownelsewhere.

Butthenhershoulderssquaredandshesaid,“Iamcontent.ButifyoudonotgotoLondonandyourhalf-
brotherdoesnothelpyou,youwillbecondemnedtomyfate.Orworse.Youmightbecomeagoverness.”

“Thatmightnotbesoveryterrible,”Opheliasaidwithfalseoptimism.“PerhapsthereshallbeaMr.

Rochesterinmyfuture.”

Charlottesnorted.“Iwouldn’twishthesufferingofJaneEyreuponyou.Andifyourecall,shespoke

longandoftenonthepainfulpositionofagoverness.Youwillbetrapped,lockedawayfromtheworld.
Condemnedsimplytowaitforlifetohappentoyou.IfyougotoLondon,youcanmakelifehappen.”

Charlotte’swordsrangliketheclangofabell.Eachonerangoftruth.Painful,hardtruth.
“Mylifeisnoeasyone,”Charlottecontinued.“Iamnotunhappy,butitisnotapathIwouldwishfor

thosewhocouldavoidit.”

“Isitsoveryhardtobeinservice?”Opheliaasked,knowingshewouldnevertrulyunderstandthe

youngwomanwhohadcomeintoherlife.Howcouldshe?Borntoanearl.

Charlottewassilentforamomentthenstopped.“WhatIdoismorethanservice.Itisacalling.ButI

donotthinkitisforyou,Ophelia.Thereislittlescopefortheimaginationandyouareacreatureof
imagination.”

“AmI?”
Charlottearchedablondebrowthenchargedoffagaininthegreenery,clearlyfeelingnoresponse

waswarrantedbythequestion.

“Andifheshouldwishmetobehismistressintruth?”shecalledafterherfriend.
Forabriefmoment,Charlotteturned,thehemofhergownnowbathedbyafogwhisperingoverthe

forestfloor.“Youtellhimgotothedevil...Oryes,ifyouplease.Whateverisbestforyou,Ophelia.That
iswhatyoudo.Whateverisbest.”

Thescentofdampearthwasnowsharpaboutherasshewatchedherfrienddepart.Opheliadrewina

deepbreath.

Whateverisbest.
Shehadnotbeenabletodosuchathingsinceherfatherdied.Andshedidn’timagineshetrulywould

beabletoeveragain.Butperhaps,she,atleast,hadtotry.

Chapter6

Indecisionisnotatraittobefavored.

Ophelia’sNotebook

OneWeekLater

London
Wouldshecome?Whenhiscoachreturned,wouldOpheliaandhermotherbeinit?
Andrewclosedhiseyesandcursed.Heshouldn’twishhertocome.
Whatheshouldwishwasthatshefoundcontentmentinhersmall,thatchedhovelandthatheshould

thenbeabletofindanarrangementwithhissolicitorwherehesentafewhundredpoundsorsoayearto
keepOpheliaandhermotherincomfort.

Undersuchanarrangement,he’dneverhavetogiveOpheliaathought.He’dneverneedto

contemplateherfieryhairslidingthroughhisfingersorherpalefleshandslimbackasheslippedoffher
garmentsandcorset.

Thesteelygrayskyhungoverthehouse,pressingonhismood.Itwasn’tright,becauseOphelia

wasn’tsomebloodycloudreadytoturntheworldinkywithitsdeluge.Shewasthefierysunand,tohis
consternation,helongedforherwarmth.

Heshookhishead,readytoturnaway,readytofindsomevicethatwouldturnhisthoughtsfromthe

wholething.Butthen,somewhereinthedistance,inthedinoftheLondonrabble,heheardit.Theclatter
offirst-grade,steel-plated,lacqueredwheelsmakingtheirwayoverslickcobbles.

Tohishorror,hefoundhimselfholdinghisbreath.Hisfingersclenchedintofistsandhestoodstock

still,asstillasamanblindfolded,waitingforthefiringsquad.

ThegreencoachwithitsgoldcoatofarmsdashedaroundthecornerofLatimerStreetintothemain

square.Therampantbearofhiscrestflashedgold,eveninthegrimlight.Hestoodhispost,finally
breathingshallowbreathsuntilthemurmursofhisstaffdriftedupfromthefoyer.

Thesoftglowofafemalevoicedriftedtowardhim.Nothers,butthatofhermother’s.Hewaitedand

waitedforhertospeak,half-afraidshewasn’tthere.Then—

“ThishousewoulddofortheentiretyofSussex.Shouldweinvitethem?”
Thedroll,gun-metalchillofthosewordssenthislipstocurlintoadelightedgrin.She’dcome.She’d

takenhisinsane,outlandishoffer.Tohisabsolutechagrin,tohisutterperversity,hewasoverwhelmed
withadancing,boyishglee.

She’dcome.
Hewhippedaroundandstrodedownthestairsbutstoppedonthelanding.
Opheliastood,herfingertipsonthewornvelvetribbonatherchin.Hergazepeeredaroundherwitha

sortofdisapprovingskepticism,nottheawesomanydisplayedwhenvisitingthemassivehomehis
grandfatherhadbuiltinLondonduringthereignofCharlestheSecond.

Itwouldseemthesoaringceilingandpaintedfrescoesdidn’timpressher.Thatporcelainvisageof

hersdidn’talterassheturnedabout.Hermotherwassittinginapaddedchairbeforethelanding,her

smallbodyalreadyasfineasabird’sthathadseentooharshawinter.

LadyDarlingtonneededabed,afire,andhotbrandy.Washetrulyuptothetaskofhelpingher?Doubt

andasharppangofanunwelcomeemotion—fear—caughthimoffguard.Perhapsheshouldleavethem
be.Allowthemtotakerefugeinhishome,butstayfar,faraway.Hedidn’tknowhowtobehavewithsuch
ladiesastheDarlingtons.

Andjustashewasabouttoturnonhisbootedheel,disappearupthewidestairs,stridedowntothe

backentranceandmakehisescapetothegamblinghellsofLondon,wherehecouldlosetheimpending
painfulmemoriesthatwerethreateningtocrashtothesurface,LadyOphelialiftedhercool,still
countenanceandpinnedherpiercingeyestohis.

***

Dearlord,hadshetrulyagreedtothismadness?Opheliacouldn’tmakesenseofhersurroundings.She
hadn’tbeeninsuchagrandplaceinhalfadecadeandherhearthadleapedintoherthroat,beatinginsuch
awaythatshecouldonlymanagethebarestmurmursofthankstothefootmenandbutler.

Sheevenmanagedtoignorethedisdaindriftingoffthebutlertowardherandhermotherandtheir

smallchestsofthings.Themanwouldbeevenmorehorrifiedtolearnthatoneboxwasalmostentirely
fullofbooks.

Shecouldn’tpartwithherbooks,nomorethanhermothercould.They’dmarriedliteratureinaway

onecouldn’tmarryaman.Forliterature...Books...Neverabandonedoneinaseaoftroubles,but
ratherkeptthenearlydrownedbuoyedbyhopeandprovidedworldsinwhichtodisappear.

Butthemomentthemaidsunpacked,theentirehouseholdwouldknowtheirreducedcircumstances.

Herrattyunderthings,mendedagainandagain,andhertwofrocksmadewithashoddythread,wouldbe
thetalkoftheservants’hall.

Still.Theywerehere.InLondon.Inoneofthegrandesttownhomesshecouldrecallinallher

existence.Oh,she’dbeentoLondonbefore.Herfather,theEarlofDarlington,hadhadhisownglorious
townhome,whereherparentshadentertainedtheglitteringhauteton.Thathousenowbelongedtoher
half-brother.She’dnotseenit,orhim,sincetheirfather’sdeath.Shehopedsheneverdid.

Thishouse?
Shetiltedherheadbacktostudythepaintedceiling,marvelingatthebeautyoftheGreekgodspainted

inRestorationfashionupontheceiling.Athenabaredherbreastandnotchedherbowasshetooksightof
adeer.Atherlitheheel,agray,virilewolfhoundwaitedtobegivenwordtochasedownthegoddess’
prey.

Othergodswatched,theircoloredrobesarainbowagainsttheforestbackdropofAthena’shunt.Was

itawarning?AsymbolthatallwhoenteredintothisfoyerofStark’shomemightbehunted,stalked,taken
in?

Sofar,everythingledhertobelieveso.Evenhiscrestwasthatofabear.
LordStarkhadluredherinwiththepromiseofcomfortforherdearmotherandthedelusionthathe

wouldleaveherunsullied.Herdearmamatrulybelievedintheyoungman.Trulybelievedthestrange
lordwouldnotbetraythem.Shedidn’twishtocallhermamaafool,orevenherselfforgivingin,butshe
couldn’tallowherhearttotrust.

HerpatchedslippersslideasilyovertheTurkishblueandwhitecarpetsasshewenttohermotherto

seeifshehadcompletelycollapsedfromthejourney.Thelasthourhadbeenhell.“Mama?”

LadyDarlingtonsatonthedelicatechair,somehowmanagingtomakethespindlyconstructionlook

likeabastionofoakinherweakenedconditioned.Sheliftedherchinunderherfeatheredbonnet,the
effortpurelyastonishing.“Mydear?”

Opheliasuckedinashudderingbreathandforcedtheremnantsofagracioussmiletoherlips,oneshe

hadlearnedfromhermother.Thedowagerhadknownhowtomanageservantsbeautifullyonceupona
time.Sheturnedtowardthebutler.“LadyDarlingtonneedsimmediaterest.”

Themannodded.“Yourroomsareready,ofcourse.Theyareattherearofthehouseandwilloffer

youprotectionfromthenoiseofthesquare.”

Andtheeyesofvisitorsandthespectatorsoffthestreet.
Ophelianodded,thenliftedhergazetothestairway,tryingnottoletregretstainherheart.Anoise

drewherattentionandshespottedtheDukeofStark.Theirgazeslocked.

Allstopped.
Thenoiseofthestreet.Thebutler’sdisdain.Theshameofherluggageandfrock.Evenhermother’s

illnessdisappeared.Inhiseyesforonebrief,holymoment,theworldspuninadifferentdirection,
touchedbybeauty,touchedbyhope,touchedbyastrangesortofwonder.

Hestoodonthestairs,stubbleblackeninghissquarejaw.Hisjethairwaswildabouthisfaceand,

again,hislinenshirthungshockinglylooseabouthisneck,exposingevenmoremusclesthanhehad
before.She’donlyeverexaminedsuchinananatomybookandshecouldnotstopherselffromstaring.

“Youcame,”hesaid.
Thosehoneyed,darkwordsdrifteddown,stealingoverherskin,andsheshivered.“Icannotsurmise

ifIwouldhavebeenafooltostayinSussexoramafooltohavedraggedmymotherhalfwayacross
England.”

“Yourmamaissittingrighthere,”LadyDarlingtonsaid,herbreathcatchingraggedly.
Opheliawinced.Itgrewharderandhardertohearhermother’svoice,oncesomelodious,changeinto

somethingasfrailasatranslucentshell.

“Mylady,”Starksaidashedescendedthestairs.
Atfirst,shecouldnottellifheaddressedherorhermother.Butasheapproached,itbecameclearhis

focuswasentirelyuponhermama.

HekneltbeforeLadyDarlington,tookoneofhersmallhandsinhis,hispalmvirtuallyswallowingup

thesmallbonesoftheolderwoman’sappendage.“YougracemyhomeandIamanarsetokeepyouinthe
foyerbutamoment.”

“Suchlanguage,”LadyDarlingtontutted,managingasmiledespiteherexhaustion.Sheevenbattedat

hisshoulderinaplayofscandal.

“Thankgoodnessyouhavecometoreformme,”hesaidasheslippedonearmbeneathLady

Darlington’skneesandswepthergentlyupagainsthischest.Incontrasttohistoweringstrength,her
motherwasbutadoll,onewhichcouldneitherprotestsuchhandlingnorlikelyascendhismany-layered
staircasewithoutit.“Willyoufollowme,LadyOphelia?”

Therewasnaughtshecouldsay.Allshecouldmanagewasasmallnodasherheartslammedbrutally

againstherribs.Asmile,agenuinesmile,tiltedhermother’slips.Andforoneinescapablemoment,
OpheliaalmostbelievedthatHisGrace,theDukeofStark,trulyhonoredhermotherandthathehadno
designsuponthemwhatsoever.

Ashebegantheclimbwithoutasinglestruggle,Opheliahesitated.Didhelivealoneinthisgreat

monstrosity?Therehadbeennomentionofotherswithwhomtheymightcontend.Hadhenobrothers?No
sisters?Hisfatherwasclearlydead,ashe’dinheritedhistitle.Andhismother?

WherewastheDukeofStark’smother?Asleepinacoldcryptinsomegreatabbey,nevertobe

awakenedfromhercold,stonebed?

Opheliashookthegruesomethoughtaside.Shecouldn’tbearit.Thethoughtofamothergone.Such

thoughtsledherdownadangerouspath.Itwasoneshecarefullyavoided,thecontemplationofherown
belovedmother’svanishmentfromthismortalplane.SoshefixedherthoughtsonLordStarkasshe
followedhimupthestairsandwonderedifhecouldtrulybeasgenerousasheseemed.

Chapter7

Eventhedevillongedforlove,

didhenot?

Ophelia’sNotebook

Andrewpouredtwosniftersofbrandy.Hedidn’tstint.Infact,onemightargueheintendedtogether
drunk,giventhevolumeofliquorhedistributed.Butshehadthatlookuponherfacethathe’dseenonmen
who’dfacedabattlechargeandsurvived,whilstthesoldiernexttohimhadbeencutdown.Hecrossed
hisstudy,litonlybytheleaping,rubyflamesofthelargefire.

Hereyesglowedintheshadows,twincoalsburningwithemotion.Shestoodresolutebeforethe

chaiselounge.Resoluteyetvulnerableand,nodoubt,exhausted.“Itwasadifficultjourney?”heasked
softly.

Herpalefingersshookslightlyasshetooktheofferedglass.Opheliastoodawkwardly,justbarelyin

theroom.

Didshefearitwouldalldisappear?Thathewouldtwirlamelodramatichandanddemandher

maidenheadnowthathehadherhere?

Hewouldneverdemandit.Whywouldanymandemandwhenhecouldseduceinstead?Hecould

haveheronthefloororthesetteebeforethefire.Haveherdarkskirtsupaboutherwhitethighsinafew
momentstoexposethepartofherbodythatwassoanatomicallyfamiliaryetcompletelysecrettohim.

Ashewouldbendherbacktostealakiss,herlongredhair,spillingfromthecrownofherhead,

wouldfanoutaroundthem.Herpinkmouthwouldpartinshockwhenheteasedtheinsidesofherthighs.

Andshe’dbeuncertain.Atfirst.
Heknewshedesiredhim.Fromtheirfirstmeeting,she’dbeenfullofcuriosity.Heknewhecould

seduceherinanunyielding,demandingsortofway.

Thedevilinhimwastempted.
Butthatwasnothowitwouldbebetweenthem.
Shestoodsostillthatnoteventheliquidinherglassmoved.
“Youhaveamostpeculiarcountenanceatthismoment,”shewhispered.“Whatareyouthinking?”
“YouknowwhatIamthinking,”hesaid,mincingnowords,thenliftedthebrandytohislipsandtook

alongswallow.

Heremeraldeyesflaredwithcomprehension.Mostwomenwouldrunforthedoor.Shearchedafiery

brow.“IsthatwhyIamhere?Toplayoutwhatbeganbytheriverthatday?Ihearsomemenare
determinedtowinwars,notbattles.”

“Thekisswaslovely.Yourbodyislovely,”hewhispered,meaningeveryword,determinedthatshe

shouldrecognizehissincerity.“Thefeelofyourskinbeneathmyfingersislovely.”

Evenso,shegaveasmallsnort,buthercheeksblossomedwithheat.“Iamentirelylovely,then,am

I?”

Helaughed.Thetonesboomedofftheoakwalls,comingbacktohim,makinghimcurlhisfingers

tightlyaboutthesnifterlestheplayadarkertunetomakeherdance.“You’veawhip-lashofatongue.Not
lovelyatall.”

“IamrelievedtohearIamnotasaint.”
“Donotbesosure.BeforeMillaisandRossettiarethroughwithyou,youshallhavegracedthe

canon.”Thepaintersadoredreligiousthemes.Quiteironic,giventhattheyhadlargelyeschewedthe
dictatesofaverystrictsociety.“Agnes,Mary,Joan,allthemartyrs.”

“Iamnotamartyr,”shebitout.
Hefrowned.He’dhitsomesortofrawfeeling.Suchathinghadnotbeenhisintent.“Perhapsnot,but

howgloriousyou’dlook,hairdownasIfirstsawyou,eyesupcasttoyourGod,penitentforyourtiny
sins.”

“Youarestrange.”
“Youaren’tdrinking.”Heknewalltoowelltheshockshesuffered.Travelingwithadyingwoman

whoneededlaudanumtocopewithpainmusthavebeenexhausting.Perhapsfrightening,too.Theheatof
thebrandywouldeasehernerves,evenonlyafewsips.

Shenarrowedhergazethentookasurprisinglydeepdrink.Herlidsflutteredshutandsomeofthe

hauntedlookdisappearedfromher.

Good.Thatwaswhathewanted.Opheliadeservedtobeonfire.Tobetotallyalive,notdrownedin

hersorrow.Anddeepdowninhissoul,heknewthathewasusingher.Usinghertogettothesortof
feelingshehadlongagodenied,condemned,andforsakensothathewouldneverhavetothinkofall
thosewhohadlefthimcompletelyadriftinthisworld.

Hewouldnotseehisfatebefallsuchacreature.Andthat,thatwaswhyshewashere.Certainlynot

forlove,norlust,thoughhecertainlyfeltthelatter.Hewouldnotletherturnintoanemptyshellofa
human.

“You’redoingitagain.”
Heblinked,focusingonherpaleface.“Pardon?”
Thatpalefacewasnowflushed,hercinnamonbrowsdrawntogetherinconsternation.“Youare

lookingmostpeculiarly.”

Hecouldn’tletherventureintohissoul.Hewasalltooafraidthatifhegaveherpurchasethere,she

wouldfindacrack,pryitopenandletoutallthepainthathehadmanagedtoshoreup.Besttokeepher
farawayandfocusedontheexternalsofhisbeing.“Perhaps,Iamthinkinghowbesttoconsumeyou.”

Herlipspartedforastunnedsecondbeforeshesnipped,“Thatisanalarmingwordchoice.”
Hecockedhishead,lettinghishungerforherheathisgaze.“Isit?”
“Tobeconsumed,YourGrace?Byyou?”Sheliftedherchin,contemplatinghim.Herbreastsliftedup

anddownwithasharpbreath.“Yes.Alarmingistheword.Foronceconsumed,wouldInotbelost?”

“Couldyoueverbelost,mylady?”hecountered,thedevilinhimunabletoresistplayingwithher.

Justalittle.“Areyousoweak?”

Sheflinched.“Mymettlehasyettobetestedintheforgeoftrial.”
Astonished,hepulledback.Didshedoubtherselfsoentirely?TheOpheliahe’dcomeuponatthe

riverhadbeensosure,sodetermined,eveninhersorrow.“Thatisnottrue.”

Herrigidnesssoftenedforamoment.“IwishIcouldbesosure.”
God,shehadwalkedatroubledroad.Couldshenotseethatshewasthestrongestwomanhe’dever

known?Certainly,shewasstrongerthanhe.Forshehadwithstoodgriefwhilehehadlaiddownbeforeit.
“Youhavealreadywithstoodyourfather’spassingandallthataccompaniedit.”

Shefocusedonherglass,herspiritdimming,andshetookanotherdrink.Apparently,tofortifyherself.

Forshemethisgazeandsaidflatly,“Youknowthesordidtale,I’msure.”

Hedidknow.He’dhadreportsdeliveredtohimthemomenthe’dreturnedtoLondon.Ithadbeenall

hecoulddonottocallouttheEarlofDarlingtonforthecravenblackguardthathewas.Fornoreasonbut
hisownjealousyoverthelovehisfatherhadfeltforhisstepmother,theearlhadcasthishalf-familyout.

ItsickenedAndrew.
Butthatbastarddidn’tdeserveanothermomentofhisinterest.No,hisinterestwasforOphelia.
Sheshiveredunderhisattention.
Hereachedoutandtouchedhercheek,skimminghisfingerssolightlyhemightnothavetouchedher

all.“Youmustbefreezing.”

Shetensed.“Iamnot.”
Thoughhewouldhavelikedtoslidehishandintoherhair,cuphernapeanddrawherlipstohis,he

pulledhishandback.“Youlookaswhiteastheproverbialsnow.”

“Weweretalkingofmyfamilyscandal.Whatdoesmycomplexionhavetodowiththat?”
“Nothing,”headmitted.Shewouldn’tbendeasilytohiscare,yethewouldtry.“OnlythatIwishyou

todrawclosertothefiresothatyoumighteaseyourachinglimbsandchasethechillfromyourskin.”

Skin.Limbs.Heshouldn’tsaysuchthingstoher.Heknewthat.Shewasinnocent.Oh,nottotheways

ofthehardnessoftheworld.Butinnocenttomenlikehimwhocouldtwistamaiden’swordsand
untoucheddesirelikeapotterspunhiswheeltosculpthisclay.

“Iamtired,”sheconfessed.
There.Howsimple.Anudgehere.Awordthere.Andshewoulddoashewished.Aboveallthings,

hewishedhertoopentohim,tospillwordsshemeanttokeepguarded.Hegesturedtowardthehunter-
greensetteebeforethefire.“Sit.”

Hersmallstepssentherbadlymadegownswayingdeliciouslyabouthercurvedhips.Wouldshelet

himbuyhergowns?Notlikely.Butitwouldnotstophimfromclothingherinthesilksshedeserved.

Asherpatron,wasitnothisplacetoensureherluxury?Howeasyitwastoconvincehimselfofthe

rightnessofhisactions.Theinnocence.Heknewbetter,deepinhislovelessheart.

Sheeasedherselfdownontothefurnishing,keepingherbackstraight,notallowingherselfthe

casualnessofeasingback.

Andrewsmiledtohimself.Shedidn’ttrusthim.Itdidn’tmatterthathermotherdidorthatheintrigued

her.Hewouldhavetoleadhercarefullyeverystepofthewayinthisstrangerelationshipoftheirs.

So,quietlyandwithoutwarning,hecrossedtheroomandsatbesideher,allowinghiscalftorest

slightlyagainsthergown.Shefroze,andhergazesnappedtotheplacewheretheirbodiesmet.

Heslidhislegbackandgaveheraninnocentlook.“Doforgiveme.”
“Perhapsyoushouldconsidersittingoverthere.”Shejerkedherstrongchininthedirectionofthe

wing-backedchairadjacenttothefireandseveralfeetawayfromher.

“Ipreferthis.”
Shearchedabrow.“Youarenotmakingmecomfortable.”
Heleanedback,allowinghisbodytodrapealongtheloungeinadisplayoflanguor.Hewasonthe

vergeofbeinganass,buthecouldn’thelphimself.Largely,itwashisnature.“Howcomfortableshould
youliketobe?”

Aninnocentquestion,lacedwithinvitation.
Shestartedtostand,tooshockedorangryathistactics.“YourGrace,itis,indeed,yourintentthatI

shouldbeyourplaything.”

Heclaspedherwristinhishand,hatinghimselfforamoment.Hatingthathisunpleasantnature,a

naturethatdidn’tknowhowtobekindoraffectionate,hadwonoutovertheintentionshehadsetinthat
smallcottageinSussex.Therakeinhimhadcometorulesomuchofhislife,ithadtakenoverthis
meetingwithouthimeventrulyrealizingit.Withoutgivingthoughttohowdeeplyhemightoffendher.

Christ,hewasacad.

Andrewswallowedbackbitterself-disgust.Hadhereallybecomesocallousthatthemeetinginthe

countryhadbeenforeign?Andyet,he’dlikedhimselfthere.Now?Suddenlytired,heswipedahandover
hisface,perhapstohidehisshame.

“Forgiveme,”hebegged,eyesshut.
“I—”
“Youmust,youknow,”hesaid,eachwordanache.Heopenedhiseyesandliftedthemtoherpale

face.

Shemethisgaze,hereyesflashingwithanger.“Ibegyourpardon?”
Hestudiedherdelicateface,hisheartdoingthestrangestbeatinhischest.“Forgiveme?”
Sheblewoutanexasperatedbreath.“Why?”
Thoughittookhimeverylastvestigeofsoulhehad,heallowedthatsmallcrackinhisheart,theone

he’dbeensodeterminednevertolethersee,open.“BecauseIunderstandyou.”

Thoseemeraldeyesofhernarrowed.“Idon’tbelievethat.”
“Youareherenotasmyguest,”hepointedout,unsurehowtoexplainthathehadseendeepintoher

beautifulsoulatthatriverandcouldseeitalreadywitheringliketheburnishoffool’sgold.Hecouldn’t
allowthat.Hewoulddowhateverwasnecessarytofanitbacktolife.

Shebegantotugaway,butheheldfast.“Youarenothereasmyplaythingbutassomethingentirely

different.Iamyourpatron,becauseIseesomethinginyouwhichneedstending,anaweofthisworld
whichisdyingdaily.Isawadesireinyoutoembracealifesomuchlargerthanthelittleoneyouwere
leading.”

“Don’tbeabsurd,”shesnapped,butdidn’tpullaway.Infact,shelingered,swayingslightlyathis

words.

“Isthatnottrue?”hepromptedgently,afraidofhurtingherwithhisblatanthonesty.”Doyounotdie

daily?”

Shewinced.
Heshouldhavestoppedthere,butheneededhertoseehowmuchheunderstoodherpain.“Yourfoot

isslidingeverneareryourcoffinasyourmotherdriftsaway.Oh,Iknowyouarenotdying.Not
physically.You’retoorobustforthat.Youarenofoolishmaidenwaitingtobesaved,myladyOphelia.”

Hepulledslightlyatherhand,urginghertositbesidehimagain.Shedid,herskirtsflowingoverhis

legsassheyieldedtohisgentlepressure.

Heleanedintowardher,undauntedinhisneedtoreachher.“Youhaveseenthoseyoulovetakenfrom

you.Andyouknowyourmotherisfastapproachingathresholdshemustcross.Athresholdshecannever
retraceherstepsover.Andyouarekillingoffyourheartinslow,steadydegreessothatyouwillnothave
tofeelit.”

Herthroatworkedandhereyesglassedover.
“Howdareyou?”shesaid,hervoicetautwithahintofanger.“Howdareyoubesocruel?”
Hisownheart,usuallyashallow,dullacheinhischest,throbbedatherpain.“Tomakeyoucry?”He

hesitated.“Tosaythatwhichyouhavenowishtohear?”

Hershouldersshook,thenshenodded.Tearssliddownhercream-coloredcheeks,cuttingpathways

acrosstheporcelain.

“Tearsareproofthatyouarealive,Ophelia.Thatyouloveyourmother.”Hetookherhandand,outof

sheerimpulse,placedituponhisheart.Shecurledherfingersintoafist,resistinghiscomfort.

“Thedayyoustopcrying,mylady,”hesoothed,refusingtogiveup,“isthedayyoubecomewhatI

havebecome.”

Herfisttrembledoverthelinenasif,atanymoment,shemightpounditagainsthiminprotest.“And

whatisthat?”

“Someonewhoseheartstillbeatsbutwhofeelssoverydead.”

Chapter8

Fearisthetrueweaknessoftheheart,

notlove.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Opheliayankedherhandfromhimandtorefromtheroom,brandysloshingoverherfingersasshemade
herescape.Sheraceddownthehalltohermother’sroom,thenforcedherselftodrawinacalming
breath.Shewouldnotenterhermother’schambersodistressed.

Shestoodinthelong,darkhall,shakinghandsclaspingthehalf-spilledglassofbrandy.Fiercely,she

grippeditwithbothhandsanddrank,drankuntilshereachedthedregs,determinedtofeelanythingbutthe
temptationshe’dleftinthatroom.

Howcouldanyonesobeautifulbesoterrifying?
Sheeasedonehandtohercorsetedmiddle.
Whyhadhebeenterrifying?There’dbeentherakishmoments,themomentswhenherfleshhadlonged

forhimtoembraceher,tofulfillherexpectationsthathewishedherhereonlytomakeuseofherbody,to
teachherpleasureinawayshe’dneverknown,buthadreadmuchof.

Butno.Thatwasnotwhyshewashere.
Withfullcertainty,sheunderstoodherpresencewasforsomethingentirelydifferent.
Tonight,she’dlookedathimand,inthatlastmoment,he’dbeenhermirror,ahideouslybeautiful

mirrorofforeboding.Themirrorthreatenedherwiththefutureofdark,emptyeyesandaheartthatwept
blood,eventhoughitsworeitfeltnothing.

AndrewStarkdidnotfeelnothing.Themiseryinhiseyesconvincedherofthat,nomatterwhathe

mightbelieve.

Shewouldn’tfollowsuchafate,wouldshe?
Opheliashovedsuchfearstotherecessesofherthoughts,liftedherchin,thenopenedhermother’s

doorandsilentlyslippedin.

Afirebathedthelargeroominarosyglow,butthecandleshadbeensnuffed.Onemighthavethought

theroom,fullofdelicatefurnishingsandabroadbeddeckedwithsilkhangings,wasentirelyempty.

Apianostoodnearthewindows,anewadditionsincetheirarrival,anditspresencedrewhereye,

clearlythequeenofallthefurnishings.Whenhadthatarrived?

Sheturnedhereyetothebedand,foramoment,wonderedifhermotherhaddisappeared.Atfirst

glance,shemighthavemistakenlybelieveditwasuninhabited,butforthesmallriseinthecovers
proclaiminghermama’soccupation.

Opheliatookcarefulsteps,herslippersmuffledbythesoft,woven,ice-bluerug.Shelongedtospeak

withhermother,butshewouldn’twakeher.Notwhenhermothersoneededrest.Itseemednowshewas
sleepingawaywhatlittlelifeshehadleft.

Butatleastshewasnotindiscomfortwhensheslept.Largedosesoflaudanumensuredthat.

Ophelia’sskirtsbrushedthecoverletofthebed.Sheplacedtheemptybrandyglassonthecarved,

pale,confection-likebedsidetable.Hermother’sfacewassosmall,smallandstrangelywrinkled,asit
hadnotbeenjustafewmonthsago.Hercheeksweredeephollows,givingtheonce-beautifulladywith
skintobeenviedbytheangels,amask-likelook.

Themaskwasnotapleasantone.Therewasnobeautytoit.Onlyasortofdelicate,whispery,

gallows’pallor.

AtearslippeddownOphelia’scheek.
Howeverwasshetobearit?
Everyoneshehadeverlovedhadleftorbetrayedher.Now,hermother,theonepersonwhoremained

wholovedhernomatterwhatshedidorsaid,wasfading.

WouldshebecomelikeLordStark?Strangeandcold?Poeticonemoment,calculatingthenext?There

wasadesperate,yetconfidentdesireinhisdeterminationtohavehisway.Wouldshebecomesovoid?
Sheprayednot.Sheprayedshecouldfillherlifewithsomethingbesidesthehollowpursuitsthatseemed
tohavelefthimmoreemptythanhislosses.

Hermother’seyesfluttered,thenopened.Asshespottedherdaughter,asmileeasedtheharshnessof

herfeaturesandsheseemedtocoilwithdelight.“Canyounotsleep?”

Opheliaswallowedbackhertears,butnotquiteintime.
Hermotherfrowned.“Whyareyoucrying?”
Opheliaglancedaway,herthroatclosingattheaudaciousnessofhermother’squestion.ButLady

Darlingtonhadmadepeacewithherfateandnolongerfeltthegreat,grapplingbattleOpheliawagedwith
it.

“Howcanyouask?”Opheliaaskedsoftly.
Hermotherlookedupatherforagoodlongmoment.Thenherbrowsdrewtogether,alookof

exaggeratedconsternationorderingherfeatures.“Youarecryingbecausemypreposterousbodyisgiving
uponme?”

Ophelianodded,feelingalaughplayatherlips.Hermotherhadsuchawayoflookingather

conditionasiftowinkatit.

Hermothergavethematterthought,thennoddedtoherself.“Isupposeitisnaturalthatyoushould

cry.”

“Why,thankyou,Mama,”Opheliateased.
Slowly,arduously,hermotherdrewherhandoutfromthebedclothes,thenpatteditonthebed.“Itis

onlyIamnotsadatall.Exceptperhapstobeleavingyou.”

Opheliadrewinashudderingbreath,thenloweredherselftositontheedgeofthebed.“Iamsad.

Verysad.”

“Andafraid?”hermotheraskedoh-so-wisely.
Opheliaweighedthatquestionforalongmoment.Howtoanswer?Shedidn’twishtoworryher

mama.Allshetrulywishedwastoeasehermother’spassingfromthisworld.“Yes.Abit.”

“Thenyouareafool.”
Opheliagasped.“Pardon?”
“Youshouldbeveryafraid.Itisquiteadangerousworldoutthere.”
“Mama—”
“WhichiswhyIhavebroughtyoutoLondon.”
Ophelialookedaway,unabletoconfesswhathadhappenedjustnowbetweenherandAndrew.“One

wouldhavethoughtSussexinfinitelysafer.”

“Ifyouwishedtodiewhilstyoulived,butIdonotthinkthatisyourfate.”
Opheliaremainedsilent,searchingforwordsthatwouldexpresshowshestilldreamedofbeingan

artistandlongedtofulfillthatdream.Unabletoexpressit,atlast,sheglancedatthepiano.“Whendid

thatarrive?”

Agirlishlaughcamefromhermother.“Thisafternoon.Andrewvisitedmeandwediscussedmusic.

Anhourlater,thepianowasmovedin.IthinkherealizedhowmuchImissedplaying.”

Ophelia’sheartsqueezed.HowwasitpossiblethattheDukeofStarkatonemomentcouldbeso

impossible,soseeminglyunfeeling,andtheninthenextdosomethingsoincrediblykind?Howcouldshe
thankhimforsuchagesture?Hermotherhadoncebeenabeautifulpianistandithadbeenpainfulforher
toleaveherpianobehind.ThecottageinSussexcouldnothaveheldaninstrument,eveniftheycould
haveaffordedone.

HermotherrestedhersmallhandoverOphelia’s,thewarmglowofthefireaddingacertainsortof

otherworldlycertaintytohermother’sface.“TheDukeofStarkwillensurethatyouareprotected.”

Despitehergratitude,Opheliasnorted.“TheDukeofStarkisabitofanass.”
Hermothertsked.“He’salostsoul.”
“Yetyouaredeterminedthatweshouldbeinhishands.”
“Letmetellyousomething.”Thesoftnessvanishedfromhermother’scountenancetobereplacedby

earnestness.“Ihavenotalwaysbeenthewisestofcreatures,butIhavealways,alwayslistenedtothat
still,quietvoicewithinme.ThatishowImetyourfather.”

Opheliasmileddespitehersorrow.Herparents’lovehadbeenarecurringthemeofherchildhood.

Holdinghands.Softkissesandlongwalksdownbytheriveroftheirestate.Secretsmilesandglancesthat
seemedtoconveyfeelingssoimportant,andsointense,thatnowordsevercouldhavegiventhembreath.
Allthosethingshadbeenacommonthingtoherparents.

Once,she’dhopedtofindsomethingakintoit.Butlongago,she’dlearnedthatsuchrelationships

happenedonceinacentury.Andherfatherhaddiedyoung.Thus,evenherparents’talehadnotbeenan
entirelyhappyone.

“Iknowyoufeeldeeply,Mama.ButIamconcernedaboutHisGrace.”
Hermother’scertaintydidn’tdim,ratheritincreasedashervoicegrewstronger.“AllIcantellyou,

mydear,isthatwhenhewalkedintoourcottage,thatvoiceofminecommandedthatIseekhisassistance.
Iknewhewouldgiveit.Heneedsus.”

“Areyoumadaswellasill?”Shebentandlightlykissedhermother’sdelicateforehead.“Forsurely,

youhavetoomanyteethtobeasoothsayer.”

Hermothertskedagain.“IonlyspeakwhatIfeel.You,too,woulddowelltolistentoyourfeelings,

thoughIknowyouaremoreyourfather’sdaughterinthatrespect.”

Itwastrue.She’dneverbeenfullofherfeelings,butratherentrencheddeeplyinherbooksand

studies.Fanciesstillfilledherhead,certainly.Butshepreferrednottolistenwhenherfeelingscame
calling,forfartoooften,theybroughtsorrowtoherdoor.Allowingone’sselftogivewaytofeelingswas
dangerous.Shewasgoingtohavetostrugglenottobesweptawayinsorrowwhenhermotherdied.

No,itwasbettertoenjoyfeelingsthroughtheworksofliterature,art,andmusicratherthanwithin

herself.“IamjustnotsurethatIshouldentirelytrusthim.”

“Trusthim?”hermotherscoffed.“Notyet.Isaidheneedsus.Heneedsustoteachhimhowtolive

again.”

“Mama,isthisthebesttiming?”Opheliabitdownhardonherlowerlip,composingherselfevenas

herlungsburnedwithunshedsorrow.“Youaredying.”

Hermothergaveheralookasifitwas,infact,Opheliawhohadentirelylostherwits.“Andwhen,

mydaughter,wouldbeabettertimetoteachsomeonetolive?”

Shewinced.When,indeed?Hermotherseemedtopossessaknowledgeasshenearedherdeaththat

onlythemostdevotedscholarsmighthopetoattain.Still,Ophelialongedtorailathermotherthatshe
didn’twishhertowasteherenergiesonawastrel,thattheyshouldgostraightbacktoSussexandlive
theirtinylifeinthequietcottage,untroubledbytheworldoranyoneinit,despitetheirlackofincome.

Shelongedtohavehermotherjusttoherself,towrapherinlamb’swool,andkeepherasstrongasshe
may,aslongasshecould.

Therewaslittledoubtinhermindthatwasthelastthinghermotherwanted.Now,shehadthischance

tolivelifetotheverylast.Adelle,LadyDarlington,wouldburnherselfoutlikeabeautifulcinder,
glowinguntilshewas,atlast,nothingbutash.

Andso,shewouldn’targuewithhermotherorproposetheirimmediatereturn.Hermotherwouldn’t

likelylastthroughsuchajourney,inanycase.

Heartheavy,eyesstinging,Opheliaslippedunderthecoverletbesidehermotherandcurvedherbody

aroundhermother’slittleone,recallingthedayswhenithadbeenthereverse.

Whenhermotherhadcradledherslightform,huggingher.
Somuchhadchanged.Yet,evenassheshelteredhermother,holdinghergently,shestillfeltalittle

girl,lostinaworldoffrighteningshadows,unwillingtoletgooftheonlyprotection,perfectorno,she
hadeverknown.

Chapter9

Artistsarethemostcuriousand

remarkablefolkintheworld.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Atavernwasnoplaceforalady.Itwasassimpleasthat.Morethansimple.Everysinglemoment
Andrewstoodintheloud,boominghallfilledwiththehalf-damnedofsociety,hecursedhimself.Butif
Opheliawastomeetthemostrevolutionaryandtalentedartistsoftheday,thiswaswhereshewoulddo
it.ThePre-RaphaeliteBrotherhooddidn’tdwellinteashops,butontheedgesofsociety,revelinginthe
livesofeverydayfolk.

Itwasn’teventhreeo’clockintheafternoonandthetavernwasdoingathrivingbusiness.Thescent

alonecouldknockoneover.Unwashedlaborersstoodatthebarandsatatthetablesstrewnaboutthe
darkenedroom.Thecheapperfumeofthebarmaidscoatedtheair.

Opheliastoodjustbesidehim,herrosymouthagape.Tworedslashesofcolorstainedherpale

cheeks.Herhair,insteadofbeingsuitablytuckedup,spilledfrombeneathhernavybonnetinrich,shining
waves.

AndthatwashowGabrielRossetti,leaderofthePre-RaphaeliteBrotherhoodandpainter,spotted

her.

“Gabriel,”Andrewsaid,squaringhisshoulders,readytopunchtheothermanifhegrewtooforward.

“Ihaveaprospectivemodeltointroducetoyou.”

“MyGod,”thehalf-drunkmangushed,hislidsflutteringovereyessoblueonemightthinktheywere

sapphires.Thegin-sottedartist’scheekboneswerealsososharponemightcutthemselvesiftheydecided
togivehimagoodslap.

“Aphrodite,”Gabrielproclaimed,hisrichvoiceboomingoverthedin.
RossettistrodeforwardandclappedStarkontheshoulder.“Youhavebroughtmeagoddess,man.”
TheartistdroppedhishandfromAndrew’sshoulderandcircledherrapidly,hisgazesuddenlyalert,

hispaint-andink-stainedfingersdancingintheair.“IwillpaintyouastheMadonna.”

Herlipsquirkedand,insteadofbeingwary,hereyesdancedwithamusement.“IthoughtyousaidI

wasAphrodite.”

AndthatbroughtoverWilliamHunt,anotherinfluentialmemberofthePre-RaphaeliteBrotherhood.

Atpresent,themanhadtwopaintingshanginginTheRoyalAcademyandhadjustsoldapieceforfive
hundredpounds.

“Shespeaksandonemustlisten,”Huntgushed.HethrewGabrielaball-crushingstarefromunderhis

mopofdisordered,curly,brownhair.“Andwhosaysyoucanhaveher,Gabriel?Sheisclearlymeantfor
myfallenwoman.”

“I’mMaryMagdalenenow?”Opheliaasked.Aflirtatiousairdeepenedhervoiceassheturnedfrom

oneartisttothenext.

Andrewnearlypunchedbothoftheartistsinthegut.Hehadtogetaholdofhimselfbeforehedragged

OpheliaoutintothestreetandcastigatedherforbeingsuchabloodysuccesswiththetwoBrothers.
Which,ofcourse,hehadknownshewouldbe.Itwasthereasonhe’dbroughtherdirectlytomeetthem.

LadyDarlingtonhadbeamedwithdelightallmorningattheprospectofherdaughtermeetingthe

artiststheybothsoadmired.Hewouldhavepreferredthemeetingtobeelsewhere,butthebestchanceof
aquickmeetinghadbeentocomehere.AndLadyDarlingtonhadbeenmostinsistentthatOphelianot
wait.

PerhapsLadyDarlington’slackoftimehadsomethingtodowithherwillingnesstoallowher

daughtertoexploresuchstrangeplaces.Orperhapsitwasthatasdeathneared,LadyDarlingtonseemed
tobedonewithshouldsandshouldnots.

AtleasthewaswithOphelia.
Andrew’sgoodhumoratpleasingtheolderladyhadjustaboutvanished.
Opheliaglancedathim.“Areyoufeelingquitewell?”
“Quite.”
“Well,youlookremarkablysour.Doesyourstomachailyou?”
Andrewclenchedhisjawbeforehecouldsaythatherbeingthemodelofaknownprofligatewas

suddenlymakinghisstomachpositivelyroil.

“Johnnymustnothearofher,”Huntsaid,ignoringOpheliaandAndrew’sdiscourse.Hepointed,

jabbinghisfinger,knucklesswollen,nodoubtfromrecentlyhavingpunchedthedaylightsoutof
something.Huntwaslegendaryforhisrages.Hence,hisaptnickname,Animal.“Ifhedoes,heshallwish
her,too.”

“YoumeanJohnEverettMillais,thepainter?”sheaskedbreathlessly.Herfacepositivelylitupasif

she’dseenherlordandsavior.

Well,ofcourseshewasexcited.She’dbravedarivertoexaminehowMillaishadmanagedthe

paintingofhisinfamouscanvas,Ophelia.

Andrewlookedtowardthebar,wonderingifhecouldgetawaywithalargegin.No.Heneededall

hiswitsabouthim.

“Yes,”Andrewsaid.“ThatiswhoMr.Huntmeans.”
“Ofcourse,”Huntsnapped,brushinghishandsagainsthiswaistcoat.“Thatponcinglittleprinceof

TheRoyalAcademy—”

“ButhispaintingofOpheliaisglorious!”Opheliainterjected,heremeraldeyesglowingwiththe

ardorofadevotee.

Allthemenstaredatherforonegoodlongmoment.Allthreeletoutcollectivesighsoffrustration.
Johnnywastherecognizedartisticdarling,afterall.AndAndrew?Well,hedamnedwelldidn’tlike

thatlookonherface,likeshe’dwalkovercoalsjusttobeinMillais’presence.

“OhGod.Notyou,too,”GabrielRossettigroaned,hisfacechurlishwithabruptjealousy.“Everyone

is,‘OpheliathisandOpheliathat’.”Heproppedhispaint-stainedhandsonhisnarrowhipsandpouted
ratherlikeabeautifulgirldeniedabauble.

Somehow,hestillmanagedtoappearmanly.Itwasamystery.Andrewwascertainithadtobehis

Italianbloodthatallowedforsuchpreposterousattitudes.

“IsawLizzieSiddalfirst,”Gabrielcontinued.“AndnowthatJohnny’sgother,Ishan’tlethimhave

you.He’dsnapyouup—”

“AmItohavesomanyadmirers?”sheteased.
Gabrielgaveherasaucylookandsnatchedupherglovedhand.“Ofcourseyouare,myangel.And

youcantossoffHunt.”GabrielleanedtowardOpheliaandwhisperedratherloudly,“Yousee,Huntonly
likeswhores,andclearlyyouarenotawhore.Youareadelicate,beautifulangel.”

Ophelia’scheeksflaredscarlet.

“Youareallmine,”addedRossetti,asifitwastheclearestconclusioninalltheworld.
“No,sheisnot,”Andrewgritted.Heslammedhisjawshutbeforeheaddedaresounding,Sheis

mine!He’dknownRossettilongenoughtoknowtheothermanwouldsimplyviewitasachallenge.“And
takeyourbloodypawsoffher.”

Rossettigavehimanoddlook,droppedherhandsandraisedhispalmsinmocksupplication.

“Forgiveme,oldman.”ThentheblackguardreturnedtohisperusalofOphelia.“Please,promiseyou
shallsitforme.”

Opheliacockedherhead.Quitebychance,anerrantlockofherfieryhairfelloverherbrow,atendril

offirethatdaredonetoreachoutandtouchit.“Whatisyourrecompense?”

Gabriel,eyeswideningwithdelightashestudiedthatnewlyescapedlock,echoed,“Recompense?”
“Yes.”Shenoddedemphatically,heradmirationtaperingtoreason.“Iamheretoworkasamodeland

shallnotdosogratis.”

“Everyoneneedsmoneythesedays,”sighedHunt,turningaway.
“Backtothewhores.”Gabrielscowled.“They’resuretobecheaper.”
Opheliashiftedonhersmallfeet,eyeingthemencarefully.
Andrewcurledhisfingersintotwinfists,desiroustodragherbacktohishome,ravageher,and

ensureshecouldbegoodfornoonebuthimself.Infact,hewouldravagehersowellandsooften,she’d
havenodesiretoleavehisbed,letalonehisroom.

Miraculously,hethrustasidetheurge,butonlybecauseheknewhowshelongedtobeimmersedin

London’sartset.“Shecommandsfiveschillingsanhour.AndIwillbepresenttoensureherhonor.”

Rossettinarrowedhiseyes.“You?Honor?”
Ophelia’scheeks,alreadyslightlyruddyagainstherporcelainskin,bloomedcrimson.
Wasshethinkingoflastnight?Whenhe’dpushedhertoofar?Whenhe’dnearlythrownhislastscrap

ofhonordownalongwithOpheliauponhisincrediblyexpensiverug?“Whenitcomestothisyounglady,
yes.”

“Issheyourmistress?”Rossettiasked.
Opheliagasped.
“No,”Andrewbitout,thoughhiscockstirredatthethoughtthathadcrossedhisownmindalltoo

often.Hecouldtakehertomistress,securingherfutureonceshewasfriendlessinthisworld.Ifshe
wouldallowhim.

Rossetti’sbrowfurrowed,hismind,nodoubt,slowedbygin.“Yourbetrothed?”
“Theideaispreposterous,”Opheliafinallysaid.
Rossettishrugged.“JusttryingtomakesenseofStark’sprotectiveness.”
Andrewwasn’tentirelyunderstandingofithimself.Allheknewwasthattheideaofanyone,anyone

atall,takingadvantageofOpheliawasenoughtomakehimwishtoripoffballsandbreakfaces.It
matterednotthathehadruminatedoverruiningher.

Nooneelsewasgoingtotouchher.Notiftheywishedtokeeptheirhands.“Iamprotectiveofherfor

myownreasons.Andifyouwishmetopurchaseanotherpainting,youshallobeymystricturesregarding
LadyOphelia.”

Rossettiblinked.“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Whichpartdidyounotunderstand?”
“Ophelia?”Rossettitested.
“Itismyname,”shereplied,agrintiltingherlips.
HergrinspurredoneinRossetti.HeletoutadarklaughworthyofMephistopheles.“Ophelia,truly?”
“Yes.”
“LadyOphelia,”interjectedAndrew,sendingupasilentprayerthathernobilitymighttemper

Gabriel’sprofanemanner.Hedoubteditwouldwork,buthefoundhimselfprotestingtotheheavens,in

anycase.

“Thegodsarelaughingattheironyofitall,”Rossettisaid.“Yes.Youshallbeallmine.Andthat

ponce,JohnnyMillais,cankeeppaintingbucolicclaptrapnow.”Gabrielsmiledadevilishgrin.“That’s
whyyoulovehispaintingOphelia.Becauseit’snamedforyou?Clearly,yourealizeIamthesuperior
artist.Thathack—”

“Yourworkisadmirable,Mr.Rossetti,”shesaidevenly,withoutguile,“butIdofindMillais’work

miraculous.”

Along,echoing,awkwardmomentfollowedherproclamationasRossettitookinherwords.
ApleasedsmilepulledatAndrew’slips.Hecouldn’thelpit.Fewevertoldartistswhattheytruly

thought.OpheliahadjusttoldRossetti,whoshehopedwouldhireher,thatshethoughthewastheinferior
painter.

Brave,foolishwoman.Howonearthwasshegoingtosurviveinthisworldbeingsoentirelyhonest?
Shewasn’t.
Andrew’sgutclenchedashecontemplatedthehellthatawaitedayoungwomansofriendless,so

honest,sopureofsoulinthespirit-eatingabyssthatwasLondon.

Rossettitossedhiscurledlocksbackoverhisshoulder,amomentofsheerangerflashingthroughhis

darkblueeyesbeforehelaughed.“Youareatreasure,andthatrarething,achallenge.Andwithyouas
mymodel,Ishallreachnewheights.Youshallneverdisparagemethusagain.”

Opheliablinked.“Ididn’tmeantoinsultyou,sir.Iamtrulyagreatadmirerofyourworkandbelieve

youareonthebrinkofgenius.”

Rossettimelted.Positivelymelted,likeacatwithatummyrubandabitofcream.
ThathardholdonAndrew’sguttightenedashestaredathisseraph.Perhaps,hehadbeenmistaken.

He’dmadejudgmenttoosoon,forontheheelsofherblatanthonesty,thiscomplimentnowseemedmore
preciousthangold.

Hepeereddownatherearnest,soulfulface.WassheputtingRossettion?Anigglingsuspicioncaused

himtowonderifhe’dbeenwrongallalong.

Perhaps,hisOpheliawasfarmoremercenarythanhehadconsidered.Perhaps,sheknewexactlywhat

shewasdoingwithherblushes,herboldcomments,anddeterminationtosucceed.

Perhaps...Shedidnotneedhimatall.

Chapter10

Sometimesonewilldoanything

toavoidone’sfeelings.

Ophelia’sNotebook

“Liftyourguard,Andrew.”

Andrewfoughtagrowl.Therewereveryfewmenwhowereallowedtocallhimbyhisfirstname.

Hecouldn’tevencountthemononehand.

CaptainJackHazardwasoneofthem.
AnEastEndtough,asroughastheycame,Jackhadbeenabrutalboxingteacher.Therewereno

Queenstownrules.Justblood.Andtricks.Dirty,filthy,trickswhichwouldshockanyEtoniantohisvery
toes.Therewasnoprettyring.Nosparklinghallfilledwithothergentlemensparring.

Ohno.
Thiswasahellholewithrottingfloorboards.Dimlanternsgavethewindowlessroomitsmurky

glowandafewmenstoodwatchingsilently,armsfoldedacrosstheirchest,theircoatscoveredinthe
mudfromLondonstreets.

Andrewlovedit.Here,heneedn’tworryaboutbowersandscrapers.Here,CaptainHazardwould

poundhisfaceinwithoutrestraint.SomethingAndrewcouldn’tgetatanyotherboxingestablishment
wheretheownerswereterrifiedofupsettingaduke.

Infact,Jack’shonestyandtransparencywaswhathadearnedtheownerofLondon’spremierOutrider

andguardservicetherighttocallTheDukeofStark...Andrew.

Andrewdid,indeed,lifthisguardasinstructed.Themomenthedid,Jack’scurled,hammer-likefist

rakedaround.

Andrewtwistedtotheright,avoidingagut-shakingblowtohismiddle.
Jackgrinned,awicked,devilmaycaregrin.
Thatgrinhadchangedinthelastmonths.Once,whenJackgrinneditmeantimminentpainandthe

potentialbreakageofbone.Butmarriagehadsoothedthebeastwithinandnow,hisgrinmeantthat,much
likeacat,hewasgoingtoplaywithhisprey.

Andrewwasinnomoodtobeplayedwith.No,hewantedpain.Direct,hardpain.Anythingtoshake

histhoughtsawayfromher.

Theycircledaroundtheshadyroom.AplaceJackwasmorecomfortablein.AplaceJackhadinsisted

wouldmakeAndrewarealfighterandnotaprettylittleponce,flailinghisfistsataclub.He’dbeenright.

Andrewtuckedhisfistsjustunderhischin,angledhisbodyandlookedforanopening.
Jackdidn’toftengivesuchthingsasopenings.
Butjustwhenhethoughthewasn’tgoingtobeabletolandablowtoday,hedartedright,swungup

andstruckJack’shardjaw.

Thepaincrackedthroughhisbareknuckles.Itwasglorious,bringingthatdeliciousfeelofskin

meetingskin,theblowreverberatingdownhisarm,andleftJackwincing.

“Better,”JackbarkedbeforehethenslammedhisfistintoAndrew’slowerback.
Andrewhissed,bent,androlledwiththepain.Movewiththepain.Movewiththepain.Thosehad

almostbeenJack’sonlywordstohimsincetheirmeeting.

Ifyoustopped,youweredead.Jackhadtoldhimthismorethanonce.
Ametaphorforlifeifevertherewasone.
Andrewgroundhisteeththenforcedhimselftorelax.Anotherlesson.Tensionresultedinmorepain.
“Comeonthen,Andrew,”Jack’swhiteteethflashed,atiger’ssmile.“OrI’llbashinyourprettyface.”
“Ihaveaballtonight,”Andrewquipped.
“Theladieswillloveyoubetterforabruise.”
Amuscletwitchedinhischeekashethoughtoftheonlyladythatmattered.
Jackthrewbackhisheadandlaughed.“You’reinlove.”
“Shutit,youtwo-bitjackanapes.”
Jackboomedwithlaughter.“Iamanexpensivejackanapesaswellyouknow.”
“It’snotwoman,”Andrewliedthroughgrittedteeth.
“It’salwaysawomanwhenamanlookslikeyou."
“Gotothedevil.”
“Nothankyou,”Jackrepliedwithsurprisingbrightness.“Thatfellowhasbeenkickedsoundlyfrom

mylife.”

Anditwastrue.Andrewknewit.Jackseemedmoreatpeacethanhe’deverbeen.However,that

knowledgedidn’tmakeAndrewfeelbetteratpresent.So,hefocused,letoutaslowbreathandcircled
aroundJack.

Jackeyedhimcarefully,kepthisguardupthenashewentinforablow,Andrewshotforwardandlet

hisfistjab.

Asfastacobra,hisfistconnectedtoJack’smouth.
TheEastEnder’sheadcrackedbackandwhenhelookedback,hislipwassplit,bloodbeadingdown

hischin.

Jackgrinnedagain,despitehisburstlipthenwithaquick,mercilesssuccession,hehurtledforward

anddeliveredtwoblowstoAndrew’sribs.

Andrewdoubledoverandgasped,barelyabletokeepmoving.
“Therenow.”Jackbouncedlightlyontheballsofhisbootedfeet.“Areyousatisfied?Bloodandpain

havebeenmet.”

Thewordspenetratedthethickfogofhisstrangefeelings.
Yes,hesupposedhehadcometobethrottled.Anythingtodistracthimfromthecurrentevents

suddenlyputtinghislifesoentirelyoff-kilter.

Heshouldnotbejealous.Shewasnothis.Shewouldlikelyneverbehis.
Butthatdeep,wildpartofhim.Thatpartthatsocietyandfamilyandtutorshadbeatenintonearly

nonexistencegrowled,Mine.

So,thoughhewaspleasedtoseeOpheliainthepresenceofsuchworshipfulartists,hewasnot

pleasedtothinkthatshewasperfectlycapablewithouthim.Andshewas.He’dseenittodayinabsolute
clarity.Opheliawouldsurviveintheworldwithoutamantoguideher.

Itwascontrary.Ofcourseitwas.Herindependencewassomethingheadmired.
“WhatinGod’snameareyouthinking?”Jackdemanded.
“Aboutawoman,”hefinallyadmitted.
“Ofcourseyouare.Itoldyouso,”Jackdeclaredindignantly.“Doyouwishtospeakofit?”
“I’drathersleepinatannery,”hegrowled.
“Ah,”Jackdrawled.“Sweetreminiscencesofmychildhood.”

HeneverquiteknewwhenJackwasjesting.Itwouldn’tsurprisehimifJackhadgrownupsurrounded

bypissandanimalhideintheEastEndofLondon,buthewasn’tgoingtoqueryfurther.

“Whatshouldwespeakofthen?”Jackaskedashepluckedupapieceofcottonanddabbedathislip.
“Easton?”
Jackstilled.“Ohyes?”
“Haveyouseenhimrecently?”Andrewinquiredwithoutunduepassion.
Jackshruggedhismassiveshoulders.“Notrecently,no.”
Andrewtookupapieceofcottonandwipedthedropsofsweatawayfromhisfaceandneck.“He’s

behavingstrangely.”

“Indeed?”Jackmadequickworkofputtinghislinenshirton.
“Mmm.”Andrewtriedtoseemnonchalant.Itwasnoeasythinggiventhestrangenessofhisfriend’s

recentbehavior.

Jacksighed.
Andrewpinnedhimwithanunyieldingstare“Youdoknowsomething.”
Jackglancedaway.
“Whatisit?”Andrewdemanded,sensinghewasabouttofinallydiscoverwhatwasamiss.
Jackhesitatedthenadmitted,“Hehasmurderonhismind.”
“BloodyHell.Who?"
“It’snotmyplacetosay.Buthe’smovingindangerouscircles.”
“Whatkind?”Andrewpaused,dreadpoolinginhisgut.“Mykindoryourkind?”
Thereitwasagain.Thatgrin.Butthistimeitwasgrim.“Both.”
Andrewblewoutadisappointedbreath.WhatinthehellhadputAshecroftonsuchadarkroad?And

darehetrytostophimfromtreadingfurther?Likely,no.Howdidaman,evenaduke,stopsomeoneon
theroadtohell?

Itwasimpossible.Forthoseontheroadtohelllistenedtonooneandnothing.

Chapter11

Menaremystifyingcreatures.

Ophelia’sNotebook

“DidyouconquerLondon,mydear?”LadyDarlingtonaskedasOpheliaenteredtheroom.

Opheliaflungherbonnetontoanemptychairandracedacrossthechamber,hergazefirmlyfixedon

hermama’sface.“Idid.”

Hermotherletoutafreeandinfectiouslaugh.Delightgaveherfaceayouthandhealththatsheno

longerhad,anditwasglorioustosee.“Iknewyouwould,mylove.”

Opheliasetherselfcarefullyontheedgeofthebed,notwishingtojostlehermother.Despitehercare,

asubtlewincecrossedhermother’sface,andabitofthejoythathadfloodedOpheliaearlierdiminished.
Itwouldalwaysbetherenow.Thatdeathlyshadow,threateningtoencompassthemall.

Opheliaswallowed,determinednottoborrowtrouble,determinednottoliveinafuturewhereher

motherwasnotthere,notwhenhermotherwasherebeforeher,fullofjoy.“Rossetti,Mama.Hewishes
topaintme.”

Hermotherclappedherhandstogether,herblueeyeslightingup.“Iamsoproudofyou.Andtonight..

.”

Opheliareachedoutandplacedherhandoverhermother’sthinones.“Tonight?”
“Thedukeistakingyoutoaball.YoushallseeRuskin.Andrewassuredmethefamouspatronwillbe

there.”

“Mama,Iamnotleavingyou.Ihavespentfartoomuchtimeawaytodayand—”
Hermothergaveheraremonstratinglookreminiscentoftheonesshe’dgivenwhenOpheliawasa

child.“DidwenotcometoLondonforjustthispurpose?”

“But—”
AslightcoughfilledtheroomandOpheliatensed.Sheglancedbackoverhershoulderandspotteda

slightlyplumpwomanwithsilveryhair.Thewoman’sfaceseemedtoholdaninfinitekindness.Fora
moment,Opheliawascaptivatedbythesheerserenityradiatingfromthewoman.

Resentmentattheinterruptionwasimpossiblegiventhewomanhadsuchalovelycountenance.
HermotherreachedupandrestedherhandoverOphelia’s.“ThisisMrs.Rourke.Andrewhas

obtainedherservices.Shewilllookaftermesothatyoumightcontinueinyourwork.”

Ophelia’sthroattightened.Shedidn’twanttowork.Shedidn’twishtogiveupthistimewithher

motherand,yet,sheknewshecouldn’tliedownanddiealongsideherbeautifulmama.Todosuchathing
wouldhavebeenaninsulttohermother’slove.Wouldn’tit?

Herheart,herterrifiedheart,screamed,No.Itdesiredtodonothingbutclimbintobed,cradleher

motherandholdonuntiltherewasnoonelefttoholdonto.Butsuchactionsweretheactionsofmadness.
Still...

“Mama,Idon’tthink—”
“Clearly,youhaven’tthought,”hermothersaidabruptly.“Mrs.Rourke,pleasecomehere.”

Theolderwomanstrodeforwardcalmly,herlavenderskirtsrustling.“Yes,melady?”ThesoftIrish

rollofherwordsrippledthroughtheroom,aswarmandcomfortingasahotappletart.

“Wemustconvincemydaughterthat,aboveanything,Iwishtoseeherhappybefore...”Asheen

glimmeredinLadyDarlington’sgazeandsheblinkedrapidly.“BeforeIgo.Imustseehersettled.”

Opheliagrippedhermother’shandatrifleharderandquicklyclosedhereyeslestherowntearsslide

downhercheeks.Theburnofherthroatwasalmostunbearableattheattempt.

“Lookatme,Ophelia,”hermothersaidgently.
Ittookgreateffortnottorunawayfromthismoment,butOpheliadrewinasoftbreath,thenopened

hereyes.Hermother,herfacedeterminedandurgent,staredupather.“Yes,Mama?”

“Iwillnotseeyoushrink.Youmustembracethislifedespiteyourfears.AndI?Iwishtoseeyoufully

seizeyourfuturebeforeImustleaveyou.”Thecalmnessaroundhermotherfeltalmostunreal,amoment
outoftime,asshesaid,“YouknowIamgoing.Andsoon.”

Opheliadesperatelywishedtoshakeherhead,todenyit.“Mama—”
“Soon.Ifeelitinmybody.IknowthatmyGodiscallingmetoyourfather.”Asoftsmiletiltedher

mama’slipsandanelusivecontentmentwarmedherface.“Heneedsmenow.ButIdesirealastgiftfrom
you.”

Opheliabitdownonherlowerlip,finallyunabletostopthetearsslippingdownhercheeks.
HermotherstrokedOphelia’shand,abutterfly-lightgesture.“Itpainsmetoseeyougrieve,andyetI

amglad.Atlast,Iamgladtoseeyoucry,mydarlinggirl.”

“W-Why?”Opheliawastakenabackbythepeaceshesawinhermother’seyes.Yes.That’swhatit

was.Peace.Andeventhoughsheshouldn’t,shehatedseeingit.Becausepeacemeanthermotherwas
almostreadytoleaveher.

“Becauseitmeansyouarefeeling.Andwhatdowehaveinthislifebutourfeelings?Theonlything

whichcouldeverbreakmyheartwouldbetoseeyousleepwalkyourwaythroughthislife,unfeeling,
unmoved.Promisemethatyouwilllive.Letmeseeyouseizethislife,despitethefearthatisinevery
heart.”

Ophelianodded,half-temptedtothrowherselfonthebedandholdhermotherthroughthenightrather

thanventureout.Buttheworldwasnotendingwithhermother’slife,thoughthatwaswhatherhearttold
her.Hersoul,ontheotherhand...Ittoldhersomethingverydifferent.Thathermotherwasright.That
shecouldgivehermotherthisonelastgift.Shewouldlive.Shewouldliveasnootherwomanhadlived
before.“Ipromiseyou,Mama.Ipromise.”

Chapter12

Beingboldcanbehardwork.

Beboldanyway.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Ophelia’sheartpoundedwithsheergleeasshesweptacrosstheballroomfilledwiththelordsandladies
oftheglitteringtonintheduke’sarms.Hepressedoneglovedhandfirmlyintoherback,theothercupped
herfingertips,andtheywhirledtoaStrausswaltz.

Whowouldhavebelievedthatjustaweekagoshe’dbeentuckedawayinatinycottageattheendsof

England,barelyeverspeakingtoanothersoulbesideshermother?

Itwasallshecoulddotoholdinherjoyouslaughter.
Shesmiled.Shecouldn’thelpherself.Itwassotemptingtoclosehereyesandsavorthedelicious

spinningsensation.

Starkwaltzedsomasterfully,swingingherquicklyabouttheballroom.She’dfeltnothinglikeitsince

she’dbeenalittlegirlspinningaboutthegarden,fasterandfasterandfaster,untilshe’dfallentothe
ground,andtheskyanditscloudshadswungdrunkenlyoverhead.

Butshewouldnotfall.Notinhisarms.Ohno,hecouldspinheruntiltheworldcrashedaboutthem,

andhisarmswouldholdher.Shefeltitinherverycore,aninstinctratherthanarationalthought.And
now,inthisfantasticalmomentwhenhisspicycologneandfiercepresencefilledhersenses,sheclungto
thefeelingratherthanthethoughtsthattoldherthathecouldn’tbetrusted.

Hadn’thermothertoldhertotrustherfeelings?
Opheliatiltedherheadback,hercoif,apileofcurlsandribbons,heavyasshetookinhisface.
Hisgaze?Thatmarvelousgaze.Howitthrilledher,sendingshiversalongherarms,teasingherbody

tolifeinthemostmysteriousways.

Stark’seyesburnedherwithasortofintensitythattingledthroughhergownandchemise.Howdidhe

dothat?Well,howeverhedidit,everybitoffleshshehadwasawakened.

Itwasindecent.
Itwasdelicious.
“Youareenjoyingyourselffartoomuch,”hesaid,hisdarkvoiceboomingoverthenoiseofthe

orchestraandtheothercouplesswirlingaroundthem.Alookofpuresatisfactionsoftenedhisusuallyhard
face.

“AmIsupposedtodoanythingelse?”
Hebenthisheadslightly,darkhaircaressinghisbrow.“No,mylady.Thatisexactlywhatyouare

supposedtodo.Buttheseicyswansaboutyou?Theyshallbeshocked.”

“Swans?”sheasked,surprisedbyhisfancy.Hecouldalwayssurprise.Onemoment,hewasruledby

logic,thenext,hewasthedarkpoetwhohadbeenthereonthebankoftheriverthatdaythatnowseemed
eonsago.“Iftheyareswans,whatamI?”

“Afalcon,”hesaid,hiseyespenetratingherwithhisadmiration.“Sleek,sharp,aware,and

passionate.”

Herbreathcaughtinherthroat.She’dlivedsoquietlyforsolongthatallshewishedtodonowwas

liveasloudlyasshecould,damnthecost.“Ilikethat.”

Thecornerofhismouthliftedruefully.“Ithoughtyoumight,mysweethunter.”
“Hunter?”
“IsawthewayyoumaneuveredRossettitoday.”Helaughed.“IhadnoideaIwasunleashingsucha

master.”

Sheblushed.Itwastrue.ShehadmanipulatedMr.Rossetti.She’dknownthearrogantartistcouldn’t

resistherifsheplayedhimcarefully.“Wasitthatapparent?”

“Onlytome,”heassured,thenhisteasinggazegrewserious.”Atfirst,youfooledevenme.”
Thedarktimbreofhisvoicesuggestedthatbeingfooledwasnotacommonoccurrenceforhim,and

shecouldn’tdiscernifhewastrulydispleasedbyheractions.Shetriednottocare.Shewasgratefulto
thisbigmanwhotoweredoverherlikeasilent,shadowedmountain.Butshebarelyknewhim,andto
begintoplaceherheartinhishandsbycaringabouthisopinion?Thatwasdangerous,indeed.

TheDukeofStarkcontinuedtomovethemabouttheroom,easilyavoidingtheswishing,bell-like

skirtsoftheotherladiesdespitethespeedatwhichtheytraveled.She’dwaltzedbefore,withyoungmen,
eagerboys,pupshopingtostealaquickkiss.

Starkwaltzedwiththesortoflitheprowessofawolfstalkingitsprey.Foolish,shesupposed,but

howshelovedtheslightedgeofdangertohim.

Nowthatshe’dpromisedhermothertolivelifetoitsfullest,thefearshe’dbeenharboringofStark

haddisappeared.Therewasnothingtoholdherbackexcepttherulesofsociety.Eventhosemeantlittle.
She’dbarelyevenlivedatitsedges,havingbeenevictedfromitshallowedhallsbyherhalf-brotherjust
beforeherdebut.

Herfingerspressedintohisshoulder,savoringhisstrength,marvelingthatshewaseveninthis

position.Notafewweeksago,therehadbeennothinginherlifebutthesharpwindandstormyskiesof
Sussex’searlywinter.

Andsorrow,ofcourse.Untilthatmomentattheriver,whenhe’dchangedherstaid,isolated,littlelife

withhisstrangereparteeandakiss.

Araucousdaringteasedthroughher.Aboldnessthatshe’dnevergivenreintosuddenlyurgedherto

tiltherheadbackandsay,“Iwantyoutokissme.”

Themasterstumbled.
Thebrooding,predatorydukeletoutasoftcursebeforeregaininghisfootingandthesmoothnessof

theirwaltz.

“HaveIshockedyou?”sheasked.
“You’vesurprisedme.Nothingyoucouldsaywouldshockme.”
Shetiltedherhead.“WhatifIsaidIwishyoutokissmenow?”
Somethingabouthimchangedinthatmoment.Hisalreadylargeframeseemedtointensify,hisdarkair

suddenlycaressingherwithanunseenbutdeeplyfeltsensuality.Hishalf-closedeyestookonahunger,
onethatsuggestedshewasabouttobedevoured.“Stillnotshocked,butverymuchtempted.”

“Then?”shewhispered,shockedherselfatheraudaciousness.Wherewasthiswildness,thisutter

abandoncomingfrom?Surely,shehadnowishtoberuinedpublicly.

“Iwon’tkissyouintheballroom,sweetheart.”
“No?”shebreathed.
“No.”Anyhintofhumordimmedfromhim,replacedbyadeepseriousness...Hunger.
“Afraid?”sheteased.
Hearchedadarkbrow.“Hardly.”

“Thenwhynot?”
Helockedgazeswithher.“BecauseifIkissyou,Iwillstripoffyourdress,pleasureyou,thenmake

youmine.Societybedamned.”

Shecouldn’tdrawbreathashisscandalouswordsevokedavividimageofhimstrippinghernaked

beforeallofthesepeople.Asanewomanwouldhaveprotested,butinherfantasy,sheallowedhim.
Allowedhimtostripherbodiceandskirtsawayuntilshestoodinnaughtbuthercorsetandstockings.

Forhim.Allforhim.
“Nowyouareshocked,”hecountered.
Sheshookherheadslowly,dreamily,stilltransfixedbytheimageofbeingutterlynakedbeforehim.

Once,she’dbeensoclose.Bytheriver.Itseemedsuchawastenowthatshe’dnotseizedthatchance.
“Confused.”

“Confusedhow?”
“Well...Idon’tunderstandexactlywhatyoumean.I’vereadagreatdealbut...”Ablushburnedher

cheeks.Nomatterhowboldshewishedtobe,thiswasstillallnew.She’dneverdiscussedthesethings
withaman.“Iunderstandabouttakingmyfrockoffandtherudimentsoftheactbetweenamanand
woman.Ievenunderstandthereisenjoyment.Butpleasuring...Howdoesonedothat,exactly?”

Andrewhalted.
Herbodycrushedupagainsthisinadeliciouspressofhishardchestandherbreastsathissudden

lackofmotion.Thefullbellofherskirtsswung,tanglingbrieflywithhispowerfullegsbeforethefabric
andcrinolinecametoastandstill.

Theystoodsilent,staringateachother.Theairburnedaboutthemand,foroneincredulousinstant,she

hadnoideawhereshestoppedandhebegan.Andsuddenly,shewasstruckbyanalarmingrealization.He
washerotherself.Herwildsoul.

Wordlessly,hetookherglovedhandinhisandledherfromthefloor.Atcompletecontradictiontothe

needpulsingthroughher,hestrodeatacasualpacethroughthecrowdoflordsandladiesuntil,atlast,he
ledthemoutintoadarkhall.Stillsilent,heledherfartherandfartherdownthebarelylitgallery.

Shewastemptedtodemandtoknowwherehewastakingher,butshefearedbreakingwhatevermad

spelltheywereunder.Shehadtofollowhim,justassheassumedhewascompelledtolead.

Moonlightfellinthroughthetowering,long,gallerywindowstotheirrightand,suddenly,Andrew

turned,facingher.Hishandsgrippedhershouldersandhebackedherintothesapphirebrocade-papered
wall.Thesapphirewassodarkitnearlyrenderedtheirsurroundingsblackintheunlit,reclusivehall.

Foronebrief,excruciatingbreath,helingered,blackhaircaressinghissharpcheeks.Hishotgaze

traversedherface,thenhoveredonherlips.

“IhaveneverwantedawomanthewayIwantyou,”hewhispered.
“Thenhaveme,”shereturned.“ForI’veneverwantedamanthewayIwantyou.”

Chapter13

Somekissessparkdeepinthesoul.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Andrewwasgoingtoburninthefiresofhelluntilallthefleshhadbeenstrippedfromhisbonesandthe
devilhimselfhadrackedhim.He’dwantedthissincehe’dfeastedhiseyesonher,wadingintotheriver
withthesunglintinginherhair.

Butthecost?
Thecostwashigh.Asmall,butsolidvoicewhisperedtohim,Leaveherbe.
Buthowcouldheleaveherbewhenhefeltaliveforthefirsttimeinsomanyyears?Forthefirsttime

sincehe’dbelievedhimselftobeasdeadasanyonehe’deverloved?

So,toblockouttherecrimination,thepain,thedoubt,thelasthushedvoiceofhonorthatharboreda

minusculehomeinhisheart,heslidhishandsaboutherwaist,graspedhertohim,andloweredhismouth
tohers.

Itwasnogentlekiss.Nokissforavirgin.Nokissforaladywhodidnotknowwhatpleasuringwas.

God,hewouldshowherwhatitwas.Againandagain,untilshewasasmuchanauthorityonthesubject
ashe.

Butshe’dneverhaveachancetousethatauthoritywithanyoneelse.Herrestlessspiritandglorious

bodybelongedtohim.Orsoeveryscrapofhimseemedtoproclaim.

Hetastedherlips,moist,hot,andpliantunderhismouth.Hehungeredtokissherlower,different,

softer,pinker,moredelicatefleshthathewouldteaseuntilshecriedouthisname.

Pullingherhardertohim,archingherback,hesavoredhergaspofsurpriseandthenslidonehandup

herback.Hecuppedthenapeofhernecksothathemightbraceherandturntheirkissintothemad
passionhesodesired.

Ophelia’sdelicatehandsrestedonhisshoulders,grippinghisblackeveningtailcoat,pullinghim

towardherasifshemightclimbinsidehimtoreachwhateverpleasurehewasoffering.Shemoaned,a
wild,hallowedsound,whenhethrusthistongueintohermouth.

Atfirst,shemerelyheldon,weatheringhispassion,allowinghimtodoashewilled.Heslowedthe

kiss,deepeningit,allowinghertoadjust.

Shedid,andoh-so-carefully,shetangledhertonguewithhis,caressinghimandsuckinghimdeeper

intohermouth.

Aharshgrowlofneedrumbledinhisthroatashebackedherdeeperintotheshadowsoftheremote

galleryandagainstthewall.Hard.Turningtheirkissintoaslowfireburnofpromise,hepulledherheavy
skirtsup,revealingfirsthercalf,thenherdelicateknee.

Hisfingersskimmedhercurvedthighandshejerkedagainsthim,stunned.Pausing,hewaitedforher

topullaway,togivevoicetoherunease.

Ifshedid,nomattertheagonyitcausedhim,hewouldcease.Sohewaitedforhertostealparadise

awayfromhim.

Instead,sheplacedahandonhisglovedonebeneathherskirtsandwhispered,“Please,more.”
Intensereliefpummeledhim.Hepulledawayfromthekissandgazedatherraptface.Wondrous.

Howcouldacreaturesuchasshegiveherselftosuchashim?

Butthatwasexactlywhatshewasdoing.Theangelwishedtoplaywiththedevilandhewouldn’t

disappointherinherfalltotheearthlyground.Oh,no.Hewouldmakeeverysacrificeworthherdescent
intohisworld.

Hewantedtotouchher.Skintoskin.Beforehewentanotherinchupherdelicatethigh,heslippedhis

handoutfromthefabric.

Awhimperofprotestcrossedherlips.
Heofferedherhisglovedfingertips.“Willyoutakeoffmygloveforme?”
Thoseemeraldeyesflashedwithunderstandingandshereachedforhishand.
Heshookhishead.“No.”
“Buthow—”
Hepressedhisbodyintohers,keepingherpinnedtothewall,andhisvoicerumbledoutofhischest,

deep,barelycontained.“Withyourmouth.”

Herbreastspressedtightlyagainsthercorsetedbodiceasshedrewinashockedbreath.Sheeyedhim

foronehesitatingmoment,thenherpinklipsparted,baringhersmall,ivoryteeth.Shenippedatthetipof
hisforefingerandpulledslowlyatthetautfabric.

Assheworkedtofreehim,Andrewlethisotherhandwander,caressingherribcage,silentlycursing

thelayersoffabric,thebarriersbetweenthem.Butbarriersbedamned,theywouldnotstopthemfrom
achievingunion.

Pressinggently,heflattenedhishandagainstherabdomen,thendrewituptotheplumpedtopsofher

breasts.“Icannottellyouthepleasureyourbeautifulbodygivesme.”

Hetrailedhisfingertipsovertheswells,thenbenttokisstheexposedflesh.
Shetrembledbeneathhimbutdidn’tfailinhertask,clearlydeterminedtoseewhatitwashehad

intendedtodowithhisunglovedhand.

Heliftedhisgazetostudyherefforts.Herkiss-swollenmouthworkedoverhisfingers,finally

dragginghisglovefree.Sheclaspeditinherhand,thencastittotheground.

Shebreathedinquickstartsasshestudiedhisbarefingers,contemplatingthemlikesweets.Suddenly,

shebroughthishandtoherlips.Shesuckedlightlyathisforefinger,bitingthepadgently,before,outof
whatappearedtobesheerinstinct,shedrewhimdeepintohermouth.

Hewasnearlyundone.
Andrewclosedhiseyes,savoringthehotsensation,consideringwhathermouthmightdotohiscock.

Slowly,heslippedhisfingerfromherlips,lethismouthlingeroverhers,andgrabbedthefoldsofher
skirt.

Hebunchedthemupandverycarefullytrailedhisfingertipsuptheoutsideofherthigh,thenoverthe

softskinofherhip,edgedbyhercorset.

Hergazewidened,herpupilsdarkandfullofpassion.Hewantedtomakeherwildforhim,todrive

herpastthegatesofcontrolandownherinawaythatnoonehadeverdone.Hewantedtoseeherlookat
himlikethisforever.

Slowly,purposefully,hecaressedherbetweenherthighs,playingoh-so-lightlywiththesilkenfolds.
Agaspofshockpassedherlips.
Heteasedherforseveralseconds,thenpartedher.Shewashotandwet,andhespreadthemoisture

overherclitoris,circlinghisfingersoverthedelicatespot.Applyinggentlepressure,heslidhisfinger
hypnoticallyoverthespotagainandagain.

Shearchedagainsthim,hermouthopening.Opheliaseizedhisshoulders,grippinghim.Shegripped

himsohard,hewonderedbrieflyifthefabricwouldbearupunderherferocity.

“Thisispleasuring,sweetheart,”hesaid,hisvoicearoughgrowl.
Heslidafingerdeepintohercoreashecontinuedtoteaseherclitoris.Hercoretightenedaroundhim

andherbreathcameinsharpstarts.Andrewbentdownandkissedherneck,bitinglightly.Claiming.

Acryofpleasurerushedfromherandherbodytightenedaroundhisfingerasshecameagainsthis

hand.Inthatmoment,hedidn’tgiveadamnthathewasfullyclothed.AllheknewwasOphelia.Her
body,hervoice,andherpassion.

Somehow,hewasgoingtokeepthemall.

Chapter14

Paradiseiswithinourgrasp

ifwebuthavethecourageto

seizeit.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Everypartofherbodytrembled,weakenedbythesensationsthathadjustovertakenher.Waveafterwave
ofsheerpleasureleftherdriftinginanunknownsea.

“Andrew?”shewhispered.
“Sweetheart?”Hekissedherneck;slow,softkissesthatonlyawakenedherfurther.Thepleasurethat

he’dgivenherhaddrivenhertosomestrangeplacewhere,insteadofbeingsatisfied,sheonlylongedfor
more.

Shewishedhimtobiteheragain.Thatprimalsensationhaddrivenheroverintowildnessasmuchas

histouch.“Takemehome.”

Home.Itwassuchastrangethingtosay.Wherewasherhome?Withhim,avoicewhisperedwithin

her.

Heliftedhisfacefromherneck,hisfaceflushedwithdesire.“Isthatwhatyoutrulywish?”
“Iwantyoutomakemeyours.”
“You’realreadymine,”hereplied.
Yes,butforhowlong?Thismoment?Thisyear?Forever?Allthosequestionsburnedtobeasked,

buttheywereallquestionsofexpectation,ofunfoundedhopes.Nowwastheonlytimethatmattered.And
now,shewasunequivocallyhis.

“Thenletusgo,”sheurged.
Thesoftthumpoffootstepsdriftedtowardthem.Opheliajoltedatthesuddenintrusion,andAndrew

droppedhishandsawayfromher.

“Stark?”
Atall,black-hairedmanwithhardeyesandashockinglyhandsomefacestoppedmid-stride.His

browsdrewtogetherashepinnedAndrewwithaharshglare.“Forgiveme,Iseemtohavecomeupon
youunawares.”

Opheliacringed.Whowasthisman?AfriendofAndrew’s?
Andrewstoodbeforeher,attemptingtoshieldher.
“Easton,”hesaid,abareacknowledgment,“you’reinLondon.”
“Soitwouldseem.”EastonsweptaderisiveglanceoverAndrewandOphelia,barelytuckedbehind

theduke.“ItakeitthatisLadyOphelia?”

Therewasnothingforit.Smoothingherhandsoverherhair,thenherskirts,prayingherpetticoats

werenottoodisheveled,shesteppedoutfrombehindAndrew.“DoIknowyou,sir?”

Theman’ssensuallipsturneddowninadisappointedexpressionofalmostpaternalsadness.“My

deargirl,no.ButIamyourneighborandhaveheardofyourbeauty.”

Easton.ThatEaston?Herinsidestwistedwithembarrassment.She’dnevermettheearl.Andthiswas

howtheywereintroduced?Suddenly,itstruckOpheliajusthowmadherbehaviorhadbeen.Anyone
couldhavecomeuponherandAndrew.Andthenwhat?

Utterruination.That’swhat.
“Iamentirelytoblame,Easton,”saidAndrew.
“Idonotdoubtit,”Eastonrepliedevenly.“You’vealwaysbeenaseducer,Stark.ButevenIdidn’t

thinkyou’dtakeadvantageofsomeoneinLadyOphelia’ssadcircumstances.”

Herspinesnappedstraight.“Iamhardlyavictim.Ichosetobehere.”
Easton’sbrowsrose,hisfaceamaskofskepticism.“Andhehasnoadvantageoveryou?None

whatsoever?”

Shefoughttheurgetoshrinkundertheearl’spowerfulgaze.Infact,shecouldn’tdenythefactthatshe

owedAndrewmuch.“Thathasnothingtodowith—”

“Yourmotherisnotpresentatthisball,Itakeit?”Eastonasked.
Opheliagapedattheman,stunnedbyhiscoldness.“Sheisill.”
“PerhapsyoushouldbewithherratherthanputtingyourselfatriskwithLordStark,whocannotbe

trustedtoactinyourbestinterestsjustnow.”

Thewordswerelikecoldwater,dampeninganyjoyshe’dfeltthisevening.
“Easton,”Andrewsnapped.
“No,”Eastonsaidcoolly.“Ifyoutrulywishedherwell,ifyoutrulywishedtohelpher,asyoutoldme

inSussex,youwouldn'thaveherhereinthisdarkhallway.Alone.Youdonotwishtohelpheratall.”

“Surely,mylord,youexaggerate!”shedemanded.Ithardlyseemedpossiblethattheonetimeshegave

herselfovertopleasurethatsheshouldbecaughtandcastigatedsoreadily.

“DoI?”Eastontiltedhishead,hisblackshirtpointspressingintohisjawline.“Ihaveseenthe

corruptionofwomenbydissolutemen.Mendestroywomen,andallfortheirownpleasure.”

“Easton,”Andrewgrowled.“Yougotoofar.”
“ForGod’ssake,man,”Eastonsaid,hisvoicerough.“You’redebauchingherinahallataball.

Anyonecouldhavewalkedby.”

Andrewpaled,shadowsdarkeningthehollowsofhischeeks.“Ihadnotconsidered—”
“Menofyoursortrarelydo.”EastonlookedfromAndrewtoherthenbackagain.
Opheliablinked.Eastondidn’tconsiderhimselftobeaseducer,then?Thatstunnedher,givenhisage

andgoodlooks.Surely,suchamanspentagooddealofhistimeinthepursuitofwomen.

“Iadmireyou,Stark.YouknowIdo.But...”Hegesturedtothespotwherehe’dfoundthem.“Doyou

wishherutterlyruined?”

OpheliastaredatAndrew,prayinghewouldsomehowcorrectthiswretchedmisadventure.Buthe

onlystaredblanklyatEastonasifahundredtorturousthoughtsdancedinhishead.

“YourGrace?”sheasked,wishingshecouldpresshisarmwithherhand,wishingtheycouldgoback

tothemomentsbeforeEastondiscoveredthem.

AndrewseemedstruckbyEaston’swords,hisentiredemeanorinthethrallofsomeunseendemon.
Opheliafrownedassherealizedexactlywhatshewasdoing.ShewaswaitingforAndrewtorescue

herfromthisstrangesituation,butasshetookinthemanwhohadrescuedherandhermother,givingthem
hopeinatimeofsorrow,itbecameinfinitelyclearthatitwashewhoneededsaving.

Chapter15

Neveryieldtoshameifyouhave

beentruetoyourheart.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Easton’swordsslammeddownonAndrew,drivingathisheartandsoul.Eachaccusationwasananvil
meanttopoundhimthroughthefloor.Hecouldn’treply,butonlybecausehehadnodefense,no
contradiction.

Anditwasbloodywellshockingthatsuchrealizationshadcomefromtheformerlecher.HadEaston

retiredfromhisonce-scandalousbehavior?Itcertainlyseemedso.Eastonwasnot,noreverhadbeen,a
hypocrite.Still,whathadmadehimchangesodrastically?Afewyearsago,Eastonwouldhavelaughed
andjestedattheircircumstances.

Butforallhisaltereddemeanor,theearlwasintheright.
InhisneedforOphelia,Andrewhadgivennothoughtsorconcernstotheconsequencesoftakingher

outinthehall,hoistingupherskirtsandpleasuringher.He’dthoughtofnothingbuthimselfandhisdesire
tosatiatehernewlydiscoveredpassion.

Hewastheonewithexperience.Theonewhoknewhowtocontrolhisurgesifnecessaryandhe’d

controllednoneofthem.Opheliawasalreadyinprecarioussocialcircumstances;anartist,anartist’s
model,whichwasonlyjustacceptablebypolitesocietybecauseoftheprecedentsetbyafewimportant
ladies,suchasEffieRuskin.TherewasalsothefactthatOpheliawastherejectedhalf-sisterofanearl.

He’dwantedtoreleaseherfromthefettersofhercold,countryprison.Tohelpherembracethe

passionsofthislife.Butifhe’dwantedtocastherasastrumpetandajadetotheworld,hewasgoing
aboutitinanexcellentmanner.

Hefeltsick.Hisstomachtwistedandhecouldnotevenbeartolookatthewomanhe’dusedsofoully.

Shewasafieryangeland,goodGod,hewasdraggingherdownintohisoilyhell,asoul-coatinghellthat
she’dneverescapefromoncehetrulyinundatedherinit.

“Mylord,”shesaid,herdeepvoiceresonatingwiththepowerofthatseraphhelovedsowell.“You

blametheDukeofStarkforthatwhichismyfault.”

Andrewblinked.Herfault?
EastonangledtowardOphelia,hisfacesurprisinglykind.“Mydear,youaremistaken.”
Shepressedherlipstogetherforamoment,thensaid,“IaskedHisGracetomakelovetome.”
Eastonstilled.“Indeed?Ibegyourpardonformyforwardness,butyoustrikemeasuntouched.”
“Not...Untouched,”sherepliedevenly.“AndIdonotwishtobeso.”
ThesoftnessvanishedfromEaston’sface.“Isee.”
AndrewstaredbackandforthbetweenEastonandhisOphelia,whowascastingherselfintomoral

ruin.“Easton,she’shadtoomuchchampagne,”hebegan,desperatetosaveherfromherownburgeoning
madness.

“Ihavenot,”shesaidsharply,beforeshelockedunrepentantgazeswithhim.“Iwishforyoutomake

lovetome.”Thensheliftedherchinandleveledthoseunyieldingeyesattheearl.“Asmanytimesasthe
DukeofStarkwishes.”

Eastonstared,hisfaceunreadable.“Ionlywishtoprotectyou.ForgivemeifIhavemisstepped.”
Andrew’sgutclenched.Hecouldn’tletherdothis.Notforhim.Nottorescuehim.Hewouldn’t

allowhertotaketheblameforhisasinineandselfishbehavior.“Ophelia,”hesaidlowly,“youspeakout
ofgrief.”HelookedtoEaston.“Hermotherisdying.Youknowthat.Shedoesn’tknowwhatsheis
saying.”

“Andrew,”shewhispered.“Areyoucastingmeoff?Soquickly?”
Somethinginthatquietpleaofherscircledaroundhisheartandsqueezed,bloodyingit.Turningit

inconsolablyraw.Touchingitasnothinghadinyears.Theireyesmetagainand,asalwaysseemedto
happenwhentheirgazeslocked,everythingbutthetwoofthemvanished.Easton,thestrainsofthe
orchestradriftingdownthehall,andthebrashdinofthecompany.Therewasnothingintheworldbuther.
“HowcanIcastoffmyself?”heasked.

Thetensioninhershoulderseasedandhergazesoftened.“Takemeawayfromhere.”
Withoutaword,Andrewwenttothewomanwhohadsomehowstolenhisheartandsoullikeanight

thiefandtookherhand.

“You’remarryingher,then,”Eastondemanded.“Youmust,Andrew,ifyou’retocontinuethissortof

behavior.”

Andrewbarelyheardhisoldacquaintance.HisentireattentionwasfocusedonOphelia’sbeautiful

faceandtheframeofherred-goldhairandthehaloitmade.

“Itistheonlyway,”Eastoninsisted.
“YouassumeI’daccept,”Opheliasaid.
Andthereveriebroke.Andrewsuckedinasharpbreathandyankedhisgazefromthewomanwho’d

justheldhisheartinherhandsandnowtwisteditinherpale,harshfingers.

YouassumeI’daccept.
Eastonbowed.“Iseeyoudonotwishmyinterferenceinyourchoice,mylady.Onceagain,forgive

me.But...Ibegyou,dobecareful.Ruinationisacruelthing.”

Andwiththat,Eastonturnedandstrodedownthedarkenedhall,vanishingintotheshadows,leaving

AndrewalonewithOphelia.

Herrejectionboomedinhisbrain.Boomedagainandagain.Untilaclearvoicemadeitinescapable

inhismind.Shedidn’tlovehim.Shenevercould.Shewantedhimforthepleasurehecouldgiveher.The
distraction.Theescapefrompain.Shewantedhimforwhathedidbest.Andapparently,shewaswilling
toruinherselftogetit.

Andifthatwaswhatshesotrulydesired,hewassuddenlyunsureifhecoulddoasshewished.

***

ThehypnoticallysadnotesofChopin’sNocturneNo.7drifteddownthelonghall,callingAndrewtoward
itssource.Ofcourse,heknewwhereitcamefrom.Themelody,bothdissonantandperfect,heldsuch
passion,suchknowledge.

Itbespokealifetimeofloss,oflove,ofpain,ofknowingitwasallworththecost.
Heshouldhavebeenwalkingaway,nottowardthedowager’sroom.Butnothing,itseemed,could

stopthepullofthatmusic.Andrewpausedbeforeherdoorandplacedhisfingersonthehandle.

Hehesitated.Themusicfilledtheair,sendingslightvibrationsupthroughthewoodendoorandbrass

latch.Hisfingershummedandheclosedhiseyes.

He’dleftOpheliaatherdoor.Oh,hewascommittedtoherseduction.Butnottonight,notwhenher

hardwordsstillresonateddeepwithinhisheart.

YouassumeI’daccept.
ThosefatalwordscarriedthesamelamentableforceasChopin’sdesolatecomposition.
Notgivingadamnforpropriety,Andrewopenedthedoorquietly,enteredandcloseditwithasoft

snick.Helingered,hisgazetransfixed.

Moonlightshoneinthroughthetallwindowsthatfacedthegarden,beamingdownontoLady

Darlington,castingherinitssilver-bluehue.Sheplayedbythatlightandnoother.

Herlonghairflowedoverherback,ashiningcurtaininthefaintglow.Despitethefrailtyofherbody,

herarmsmovedwithvigor,heremaciatedfingersmasteringthekeys.

Suchself-possessionhe’dneverseen.OnemighthaveneverguessedLadyDarlingtonwasdefying

death’sreachinggrasp,whatwiththepassionherspiritheld.

Thelastnotesreverberatedthroughtheroomandherbody,sofullofvigor,cametostillness.She

drewinalongbreath,herslendershouldersexpandingeversoslightlybeneathherbluesilkrobe.Her
fingersrestedontheivory.“You’reinthewrongroom,Andrew.”

Heblinked.
Slowly,almostpainfully,sheturned,hermovementsstutteringasshebracedherselfonthelipofthe

piano.“You’vehadadisagreementwithOphelia.She’squitestubborn.”

“Surely,youdon’tmean—”
“WhatelsecouldImean,dearboy?Youloveher,don’tyou?Youshouldbewithher,notanold

woman.”

Henearlybarkedanemphaticdenial,butwhatwouldbethepoint?Instead,hedrewinalongbreath,

thensteppedfartherintotheroom.“YourcompanyisexactlywhatIrequire.”

Shegavehimawrysmile.“Youpreferolderwomen,isthatit?”
“I—”
“Oh,Andrew,whatareyousoafraidof?You’reasbadasmydaughter.”
Hewinced.“Yourdaughterdoesn’tseemtobeafraidofanything.”
“Don’tletherfoolyou.”
“Opheliawouldlaughatthedevil.”
“Oh,shemight,butshe’ddoittohidethequakingofherheart.She’sknowntoomuchpaininthislife.

Likeyou.”

Hesnorted.“We’veallknownpain.”
“Wehave.Butyours,Andrew?Yourshasmadeahomeinyourheart,carvingoutadwellingplace.

Youmustevictitoryoushallneverbehappy.”

Wasthatwhyhe’dwandereddownthehalls,drawnbyhermusic?Tobetoldsuchplatitudes?Except,

theyweren’tplatitudes.Thewaytheyhurt,theyweretruths,forhe’dlearnedlongagothatitwasn’tlies
thatrippedoutone’sheart.“Idon’tknowabouthappiness.Ithinkit’samyth.”

Shelaughed.“Oh,itexists,butonlyforthosewhoworkforit.Happinessisademandingtaskmaster.”

Sheraisedherarms,thesleevesofherembroideredgownswoopingabouther,thenbeckoned.“Come.Sit
byme.”

Andrewhesitatedagain.Heshouldn’tbehere.Buthecoulddenytheolderladynothingand,intruth,it

wasexactlywhathewanted.Thewisewordsofamother.Silently,hecrossedtheroomandlowered
himselfgentlyontothedamask-coveredbenchbeforethepiano.

“Doyouplay?”sheasked.“Youdo,don’tyou?Icantell.”
Howhewishedhecouldcontradicther.Buthedidplay.Infact,thepianowashis.Hehadkeptitin

hisroomsincethedayhe’dclaimedthehouseandhistitle.Butthemomenthe’dlearnedofherloveof

playing,he’dbeendeterminedthatsheshouldhaveitforaslongas...Aslongasshewasable.Now,he
wasgladhehadgivenhispianotoher,forthejoyofmusichadgracedherface.

Itwasafacealreadytouchedbygrace.Still,hewasstillgladtohavebeenabletogivehersomething

shesoenjoyed.

Sheplacedawitheredhandonhisstrongforearm.“BeethovenorChopin?”
“Ibegyourpardon?”
“Whatshallweplay?”
Hecouldn’ttearhisgazeawayfromherhand.Once,ithadbeenslim,thefingerslonganddelicate,

glowingpinkandwhitewithhealth.Now,itshookslightly,andthebonesstrainedagainsttheslightly
spottedskin.Evenso,itwas,perhaps,themostpurelylovingtouchhe’deverknown.“Iwishyou’dbeen
mymother.”

Thewordswereoutbeforehecouldstopthem.Theyrangintheair,dangerous,fulloflonging.He

couldn’ttakethemback.Hewaitedforhertolaugh.

Instead,thatfrailhandliftedandshestrokedhisdarkhairbackfromhisface.Thenshegentlycupped

hischeek.“Mydear,Andrew,Iam.Andyouaremyson.”

Histhroattightenedasthestingoftearsburnedhiseyes.
Shegazedupathim,hergazeopen,soft,fulloflove.“Iknowitinmyheart.IknewitthemomentI

sawyou,thatyouwouldbemyboy.”

“Idon’tknowifOpheliawillever—”
“Shh.”Thatsofthandofherspressedagainsthismouthtosilencehim.Thenshetookhisbighandsin

hers.“Now.IdobelieveyouandOpheliaaremeantforeachother,butIwillnothaveyoubelievethatmy
loveisconditional,Andrew.Loveisneverconditional.Ifsomeoneattemptstogiveyouconditions,thenit
wasneverlovetheygaveyou.”

Andrewgaspedbackhispain.“IdonotknowifIcanmakeherloveme.”
“Shealreadydoes.Thatwillnotbeyourproblem.”
HoweasilyOphelia’smothersaidsuchthings.“Thenwhatismyproblem?”
“Shehasnoideahowtotrustthemalesex,Andrew.Herfatherdied,leavingher.Andherhalf-brother

hurtherverybadly.Shelovedthemboth.Sosheiswaryofgivingherheartfreelyagain.Youmustearn
hertrustifitisherloveyouseek.”

“Iamnottrustworthy.”
“Ifyounevertry,younevershallbe.”
GoodGod.Shewasforthright.Shewasn’ttryingtoconvincehimofhisgoodcharacterorthathe’d

secretlybeenagoodmanallalong.Ohno.Shewassimplytellinghimtochange.“WhatifIcan’t?”

“Thenyouembraceyourunhappiness.Youchooseit.Unhappinessdoesn’tforceyoutoitslonely

path.”Shesqueezedhishand.“Therenow,Iwageryourmotherneversaidsuchharshthings.”

Hestaredatheralongmoment.“Mymotherneversaidanythingtome.Notbeyondtheoddcomment

aboutmyappearance.”

“Well,then.”Shesmiledsoftly.“Itishightimesomeonetookyouinhand.”
“Isuppose.IneverthoughtIwasworthtakinginhand.”
“Ah.Now,I’mgoingtotellyousomethingveryimportant.Andyoumustlisten.”
“Yes?”
“Opheliacannevermakeyoufeelworthy.”
“IknowI’vedonethings.Saidthings.Butsurely,shecan—”
“You’renotlistening,”sheadmonished.
“Forgiveme.”
“Butthere’sthepointofit,Andrew.Theonlypersonwhocanforgiveyouisyou.Andtheonlyperson

whocandeemyouworthyisyou.Ifyouallowotherstodetermineyourworth,youshallallowothersto

holdyourfateintheirhands.Takeresponsibilityforyourownlife,mydearboy,andalwaysremember
youareapreciouschildofthisuniversewhowasbornworthyandwilldieworthy.Noonebutyoucan
takethataway.”

Tohishorror,atearslippeddownhischeek.Heresistedtheurgetodashitawaybut,rather,letitfall.

“Thankyou,LadyDarlington.”

“Mama,”shesaidsoftly.
“Thankyou...Mama.”
“Good.Nowletusplay.Somethingwithverve.Beethoven,Ithink.”
Andso,Andrewfacedthepianowiththemotherofhisheart.Hefeltlikealittleboywhofinallyknew

hewaslovedandwassuddenlyawareofhowwonderfullifecouldbe.

Chapter16

Theonlywaytosurvive

istoprotectone’sheart.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Opheliasatverystill,chintiltedup,gazeskyward,herhandslightlyclaspingadaggerwiththepoint
carefullypositionedagainstherredvelvet-coveredbreasts.Apparently,shewasJuliet,longingforher
Romeo.

Itwasasurprisinglysympatheticpose.Onethatfilledherheartwithlonging.Longingforthedratted

manstandinginthebackofthestudiokeepingawaryeyeuponRossettiastheartistworked,sketching
wildlyoveralargecanvas.

Andrewhadleftheratherdoorlastnight.Afterawakeningherbody,afterkissingherwithapassion

she’dneverevenconceivedof,he’dlefther.Whyhadn’thefollowedherintoherroomtofinishwhatthey
hadbegun?

Whathadchanged?
AndgoodLord.Thenighthadbeenfilledwithmusic.
She’dsatinherroom,listeningtohermotherplay.Whenshe’dopenedherdoor,readytogotoher

motherandsitbesideher,she’dspottedAndrewslippingintohermother’sroom.

Therehadbeensilenceforsometimeandthen...Thenthey’dbeguntoplaytogether.Duetafterduet

afterduet.

Opheliahadneverplayedwell.Shepreferredtolistentohermother,savoringthefeelingofbeing

transportedbysuchimpassionedplaying.

She’dbeentemptedtoburstinonthemanddemandtoknowwhytheykeptthehouseupatallhours.

Butshe’dknownjealousymotivatedher,jealousythatAndrewsharedsomethingwithhermotherthatshe
nevercould.AndperhapsasimplejealousyoftheeasewithwhichAndrewhadseeminglybaredhisheart
toLadyDarlington.

Whycouldn’thebarehishearttoher?
Whenwouldshelearn?Whenwouldshefinallylearnthatgivingone’shearttoanotherwas

horrifyinglydangerous?Oh,itwasallwellandgoodtoliveforpleasure,withoutfear,butshecouldn’t
risklosinganyoneelse.

She’dlostherfather.Granted,he’dnotwishedtoleaveher.Butintheend,shehadfeltabandonedjust

thesame.

She’dlostherhalf-brother,whomshe’donceadored.Whatafoolshe’dbeeninthatregard.Howhe

musthavesecretlyhatedhertocuthersoeasilyfromhislife.

Andnowshewaslosinghermother.Thishurtmostofall.Forhermotherwasherrock,theconstantin

herever-shifting,changingworld.Now,therewouldbenoonelefttoloveherbest.Tolovehernomatter
whatgoodorbadchoicesshemadeordespitewhatshemightdowrong.

OpheliarefusedtomakethemistakeofplacingherheartinAndrew’shands.Forsurely,whetherhe

willeditorno,hewouldabandonher,too.

Thatwasthepointofit.LifecouldstealAndrewfromher.Soshewouldhavetoensurethatshenever

lovedhimtoowell.She’dhaveto.Orshe’driskmorepainthanshecouldbear.

Shefrowned.Thatwasn’twhathermotherhadmeantwhenshe’dsaidtoembracelife.Ophelia

swallowed,dismayedtorealizethat,perhaps,shewasn’tascourageousashermotherthought.

Bangingandpoundingfilledthehallway,mixedwiththecacophonyofseveralvoices.
Despiteherself,hergazeslippedtotheopendoorway.
“Don’tmove,”roaredRossetti.
Shesnappedherfacebacktothelight,attemptingtorecapturetheraptureRossettihadassuredher

she’dfound.Butthevoicesbecameclearer,oneofthemabsolutelydistinctandfemale.

Opheliajumpedtoherfeet,nearlytrippingontheyardsofvelvetdrapedoverher.“Mama,”shecried,

horrified.

Yet,hermotherbeamedwithdelightastwofootmenmaneuveredherlitterintotheartist’sstudio.The

footmen,intheirStarklivery,struggledtonegotiatethenarrowpassageway.Theirwhitewigswere
askewandtheirfaceswerestrained,nodoubtfromfearofupendingtheirdelicatecargo.

“Goodafternoon,mydarling,”hermothercalledasthefootmenloweredthelitternexttoAndrew,

whodidnotappearatallsurprised.

“Wh-what?”OpheliasnappedhergazefromAndrewtohermother,thenbackagain.
“Holdstill,”bellowedRossetti,hisblackbrowsdrawingtogetherashepointedhischarcoalather.
“Yes,doholdstillforMr.Rossetti,”hermothersaid.Shespokeasifshewasn’tdeathlyillorthather

appearanceinathird-floorartstudioinaslightlyquestionablepartofthecitywascommonplace.

OpheliaglaredatAndrew,readytohikeuphervelvet,medieval-styleskirts,strideacrosstheroom,

andshakehim.Shebitout,“Whathaspossessedyouto—”

“Ensureyourmotherenjoysherself?”hequeried,aplayfulgrinteasinghismouth.“Why,Iam

determinedtokeepthepromiseImadeinSussex.”

“Andwhichpromisewasthat?”shegritted.
Andrew’sgrindimmedandhestaredbackathersolemnly.“Thatshenotsimplyfadeaway.”
Hermother,inastunning,wine-redbrocadegownandblackcloakwithgoldbuttons,leanedforward.

Hersilverhaircurledaboutherstrainedthoughjoyfulface.“Andrew,here,promisedmethatIshould
liveverydifferentlythanIhadbeen.Andlastnight,wesortedoutmylastfewdays.”

Last.Few.Days.Opheliaswallowed.Thereitwas.Hermother’swords,saidsoeasily,guttedher.
She’dknown.She’dknownformonths,butthiswasit,spoken.Statedbluntly.Athingthatwasnowon

theirdoorstepratherthaninthedistantfuture.Hermotherhadverylittletimeand,apparently,shehad
determinedtoenjoyeverymomentofit.

AndOphelia’dratherbedraggedthroughhotcoalsthandenyhermotherthatchance.Sheignoredthe

sadnessclawingatherheartandliftedgrateful,slightlydampeyestoAndrew.Shedidn’tevenneedto
saythankyou.Hesawhergratitude.Themomenthedid,hisstrongfeatureseased.

You’rewelcome,hemouthed.
“I’msorry,butwhoareyouexactlyand”—Rossettigesturedwildlyathertravelinggarments—“are

yougoingabroad?”

HesizedLadyDarlingtonupasonemightaprimehorse.Except,theartistwas,nodoubt,wondering

ifshehadthefundstosupporthiswork.

“Youmightsaythat,youngman,”LadyDarlingtonsaidlightly.“Butthese,”shesaid,gesturingtothe

thickfabric,“keepmyoldboneswarm.Now,areyouthetalentedartistIhaveheardsomuchabout?”

RossettinevertookhisdarkeyesoffLadyDarlingtonashesnatchedupapieceofcream-colored

paper.“I’manartist.Godknowswhatyoumayhaveheard.”

“Thatyou’reascandal,butyourpaintingsareglorious.”
“Alwaysapleasuretomeetsomeonewhoappreciatestrueart.”
LadyDarlington’slipsquirked.“Andamanofyourmodestyissodifficulttofind.”
“Howtrue,”Rossettirepliedashesketchedmadly.“Opheliaisyourdaughter?”
“Sheis.”
“It’squitecleartoseewhereshehasobtainedit.”
“It?”Opheliaasked.
“Stark,makeyourselfuseful.Buyussomechampagneorsomething.Ophelia’smothermustbedying

ofthirstaftertrekkingthroughthecity.”

Therewasalong,awkwardsilence.LongenoughforevenRossettitorealizehe’dsaidsomething

amiss.“What?GoodGod,it’snotasifshe’sactually...”

Rossetti’sfingersstilledandhetookalonglookatLadyDarlington.“Doforgiveme,madam.

Sometimes,Ionlyseethesubject,notwhatliesbeneath.”

“HowcanIbedismayedthatyouseesomethingbesidesadyingwoman?”LadyDarlington’ssmilelit

theroombrighterthananydrearyLondonafternoonsunmight.

“Dyingwoman?”Rossettirepeated.Hisbrowcreased.“Madam,Ionlyseeaspiritwhichhas

descendedfromtheheavens.Andthatspiritissovital,sobeautiful,sootherworldly,itisnosurprisethat
itmustsoongiveupitsearthlyenvelope.”

Ophelia’sheartnearlystopped.HowwasitthatRossetti,amanwhousuallyneverthoughtamoment

beyondhisowndesires,couldsaysomethingsobeautiful?

“Sillyboy,”hermothertsked.“Nextyoushallbetellingmeyouwishmetomodelforyou.”
“Stark,”Rossettisnapped.“Champagne.”
AndrewglaredatRossetti.“DoIlooklikeanerrandboy?”
Rossettigavehimashrug.“Well,ifyouwishtheladiestopinefromthirst.”
“Don’tyoudrinkgin,Mr.Rossetti?”LadyDarlingtoninquired,herlashesbattingwithasurprising

degreeofwhatappearedtobecoquettishness.

Ophelialetoutafrustratedsqueak.
StarkandRossettigaped.
Andrewrecoveredfirst.“Ginisfoul,LadyDarlington—”
“You’renotgoingtoruinourfun,areyou?”LadyDarlingtonfoldedherblackleather-glovedhandson

herlapandwaitedpatiently.“Andcloseyourmouth,Ophelia.Oneshouldn’twishaflytogain
admittance.”

Opheliasnappedhermouthshut.WasthisthewomanwhohadruledLondonforagoodfewyears?

She’dgrownsoaccustomedtothequiet,kindladywhohadbeenherfriendandcompanionintheirtiny
littlecottageinSussex.Butwhenshe’dbeensmall,hermotherhaddonnedsilksandbrocadeseveryday,
jewelsinherstylishlycoifedhairandabrilliantsmileuponherlips.

Herfatherhadgivenhermothergiftsupongifts.He’dtakenheroutwithalookofsuchprideuponhis

countenance,Opheliahadonlyprayedtofindsomeone,oneday,tolookuponherthusly.

Didhermothermissit?
Theswirlinglifeofsociety?Shedid.Ofcourseshedid,orhermotherneverwouldhaveurgedherto

cometoLondontofindherway.Ophelialiftedherchin.“Goon,Andrew.Buyusthebestginandletus
getvery...”Shefrowned,searchingfortheproperwords.“Howdoyousayit?”

“Plastered,”quippedRossetti.
“Tight,”drawledAndrewwithasigh.
“Threesheetstothewind,”saidLadyDarlington,andthenshelaughed.
AsweetersoundOpheliahadneverheard.Andinthatmoment,sherealizedshehadAndrewtothank

forthat.Noother.Andrewhadgivenhermotherjoyandthechancetoliveherlifetothefullest,onelast

time.

Herheartsuddenlybrimmedwiththatoh-so-dreadedemotion.
Love.

Chapter17

Prevaricationisawasteoflife.

Whenopportunitypresentsitself,

donothesitate.

Ophelia’sNotebook

SteamwaftedfromOphelia’sbeautifullypaintedchinateacup.Littleluxuries,suchasteaeverymorning
inacupwhichwouldhavepaidtherentonthecottageforamonth,werestillhardforhertograsp.Once,
ofcourse,shehadbeenusedtosuchthings,butnow...

Howcouldshetrustthiswhenitcouldendanyday?
Andrewhadbeguntoactstrangely.EspeciallysincethenightEastonhadconfrontedhim.
She’dreliedonthefactthatAndrewwouldopenhisarmstoher,ifnothisheart.Shedidnotwishhis

heart.Truly.Hisembracewaswhatshedesired.

Hisstrangeabsencefromherchamberandhissuddendistancewere...Painful.Shelongedtoseethe

fireinhiseyesagain,tofeelthewickedheatofhistouch.Hemadeherfeelalive.Andnowthathe’d
withdrawnit,sheachedasamaninthedesertwhohasseenamirage.

Bootstepspausedatthesmallbreakfastroom’sdoor.
“YourGrace?”sheasked.
Asighmetherwords.
“Thatterrible,amI?”sheteased.
Heentered,hiseyesaswildasastormyethiswholestancewasrigid.“Ophelia,wemustspeak.”
“No,”shesaidabruptly,notwishingtothinkofunpleasantthings.Unpleasantthingshadruledherlife.
“No?”hisbrowsshotupward.
“Weneedn’tspeakofit.”
Henoddedtightly.“Ifyouwishtokeepsilentonthesubject,Iwillnotforceyou.”
“Willyoujoinme?”sheaskedsoftly,longingforhiscompanyinawayshehadn’tbefore.
HowhadshefailedtonoticehowkindAndrewwas?Hermotherhadseenit.He’dlavishedthemboth

withsomanylittleactsofkindness.Now,shecouldnoticenothingelse.

“Eastonwasright,”herepliedtightly.“Imustkeepmydistancefromyou.”
“Why?”shedemanded.
Hewassilentforalongmomentthenrepliedsimply.“Youknowwhy.”
Sheleanedbackthensmiled.“Yourefusetodebauchmeentirely?”
Hisfacegrewpained.“Somethinglikethat.”
“Iwishyouwould,”sheteased,unabletostopherself.“Debauchme,thatis.”
“Ophelia,”hegroaned.
“Itisoneofthereasonsyoubroughtmehere,isitnot?”Shetookasipofteaasiftheyspokeofthe

weather.Butdeepinhersoul,shewasdesperateforhimtostay.Tolisten.“Toawakenmybodyaswell
asmysoul?”

“Yes,”headmitted,hisvoicearoughrumble.
“Thenwhy—”
“Becausethereismorebetweenusthansimplelust,”hereplied,hisvoicefairlyboomingoffhis

beautifullydecoratedwalls.

“Yes,”sheagreed.
“Doyouseethen?Icannotbedyouandthinknaughtofit.”
Shenodded,placingherteacupbackinitssaucer..“Iunderstand.”
“Doyou?”heasked,relieved.
Lickingherlips,sheliftedhergazetohis.“Youarenottheheartlessmanyouclaimedtobe.”
Hisfacehardened.“Isuppose,afterall,Iamnot.ButIamnot...“
“What,Andrew?”shechallenged.“Good?AsfarasIcantell,youarethebestmanthatIknow.The

kindnessyouhaveshownmymothermeansmorethanIcaneversay.Whoelsewoulddosuchathing?”

Helookedaway,asifhedidn’tdeserveherwords.“Shehasrepaidmeformykindnesstenfold.”
Opheliasmiledsadly.“Iamnotsurprised.Butforonce,willyouseeyourselfasweseeyou?As

good?Askind?”

Heshookhishead,hisdarkeyesunforgivingofhimself.“Ihavetakenadvantageofyou-”
“Stop,”shesnappedquickly.“YouhavedonenothingthatIhaven’tdesired.Wouldyoudenyme

affection?Comfort?Forwhenyouspeakasyoudonow,thatiswhatyousuggest.”

“Iwouldnothurtyou,Ophelia,”hereplied,hisvoicedeepwithsadness.
“Youwon’t,”shewhispered.
Hepausedthenhismouthtwistedinapainedsmile.“Perhaps,then,itisyouwhoshallhurtme.”
Andthenwiththat,heturned,stridingbacktothehallandawayfromher.
Shestaredattheemptydoor,stunned.
Howcouldsheeverhurthim?Andrewwasasstrongasthestandingstonesthathadsurvivedtheages.

Surely,she,awispofayoungwoman,couldnotshakehim.

***

Rossettiwasreputedtobeaslowpainter.Apainterwhoputoffworkaslongaspossible...Rumorhad
it,hehadoncegivensketchestohiswifethathadbeencreatedbyMillaisoutofhiseternal
procrastination.So,Opheliahadexpectedthepaintingtotakemonths.However,itseemedwhenstruckby
amuse,Rossettiwasamanablazewithcreativityanddrive.

Opheliahadgonetohisstudioeverydayforthelastmonth,athisrequest,accompaniedbyAndrew

and,occasionally,hermother.Hermuscleshadscreamedfromholdingherposeforhoursonend,butshe
wouldn’thavetradedamomentofit.

Asthepaintinghadcometolife,hermotherhadfadedalittlemoreeachday.Yethereyesglowed

withwhatcouldonlybecalledtriumphasshewatchedtheimageonthecanvasbecomemoredetailed,
morebeautiful.

Whilsthermotherhadchattedpleasantly,fillingupthemomentswithjoy,Andrewhadbeen

remarkablyquiettheselastweeks,supportinghermother.Supportingher.

Itcausedherhearttoachethewayhesimplysteppedinandfulfilledeveryneedhermotherhad.
Howhadsuchamancomeintoherlife?
Surely,itcouldn’tlast.Suchcontentmentneverdid.
Butnow,astheystrodeintoTheRoyalAcademy’smagnificenthallstoseethepaintingwhichhad

earnedRossettiaprimespotontheline,shecouldn’thelpfeelingawaveofbittersweethappiness.

Eachstepwasfilledwithgratitudethathermotherhadlivedtoseethisday.
Achairhadbeenarrangedforher.Walkingnowwasfartootaxing.

So,thefootmenwoveherthroughthetightcrowdofperfectlydressedandimportantonlookers.Far

fromlookinganinvalid,somehowhermothermanagedtolooklikearesplendentqueen,benevolently
smilingathersubjects.

Thefootmencarriedhereasily,LadyAdelleweighingverylittlenow.
Opheliafollowedbehindhermother,herbell-likeskirtsbrushingagainstthelegsofthemenpacking

theroom.

Theywereallgossiping,theirwhitewhiskerstwitchingastheyclusteredaroundthepaintingthathad

earnedsomuchacclaimintherecentdays.

Allwerestunned.FormanyhatedRossettiandhisnewartisticmovement.Yet,apparently,nonecould

denythebeautyofhisJuliet.EvenCharlotte,allthewayinSussex,hadheardofthepainting’sreception
andhadwrittentocongratulateheronitandherescapefromaslow,lonelydemiseinthecountry.

Perhaps,shewouldhavetoaskCharlottetojoinherinLondonforafewdays.Sheimagined

Charlottewouldhandlethemetropoliswithaplomb.

Opheliadidn’ttrytohidethesmileasshecamefacetofacewithherself...Onlyitwasn’therself.
Somehow,Rossettihadcaughtherandimbuedherwithtragedy.Thebladeappearedtoalreadybe

piercingherbreast,arubydropofbloodglowingonherivoryskin.

Inthepicture,herredhairflowedoverhershoulders,haloedbygold.Itwassuchaboldpiece,what

withhereyesmadebig,hermouthlush.Yet,shecouldfeelJuliet’ssadnessdespiteheryouthful
sensuality.

“You’reatriumph,”Andrewsaidsoftlybehindher.
Thesoundofhisvoice,deep,slightlyrough,neverfailedtocauseherwholebodytoawaken.To

hungerforhisarms.

Itwasheroneregretovertheseweeks,Andrew’sslightdistance.
Oh,theyhadspokenandspenthourstogether.Sheknewhimwellnow.Sheknewhowhetookhistea,

whichbooksandnewssheetshepreferred,andhowthechokedtrafficofLondoncouldshakehiscalm
exteriorandsendhimshoutingattheponceswhoclearlyhadnocluehowtohandletheirvehicles.

Butshestilldidn’tknowthesecretsofhisbody.Shelongedforthesofttouchofhislipsuponhers.
Shewasbeginningtofearthathewouldneverkissheragain.
Thatseemedanunbearableloss.
Opheliaswallowedandforcedherselftotearherthoughtsawayfromthepassionthat,now,always

burnedjustbeneathhersurfaceforhim.

“Rossettiisatriumph,”shefinallycorrectedonceshe’dgottenaholdofherriotingsenses.
Andrewlaughed,alowcaress.“Rossettiisexceptional.It’strue.Butyournamewillbespokenof

withreverenceineveryintelligentandworthwhilecircleforsometime.Youarethenewgoddessofart.

SheturnedslowlyandgazedupatAndrew.“DoItrulylooklikethat?”
“Yes,”hesaidwithawe.“Hehascaughtyouretherealnature.”
“Butsurely...”Shehesitated,almostnotdaringtosaywhatshewished,lestheconfirmherfears.
“Yes?”hequeried.
“Idonotlookthatsad,doI?”sheasked,desperatelyhopingshewasn’tsotransparent.“Itismerely

thesubject."

“Youhavebeenpaintedbytragedy’sbrush,Ophelia.Thereisnodenyingit.Buthehaschosento

focusonthatoneaspectofyou.”Therewasnounduepityabouthim,justadmissionofthetruth.“Itsuited
him."

Still,hewasn’tdenyingthatshedid,indeed,seemimbuedwithsadness.
Shegazedoverathermotherwhowasstillstudyingthepaintingwithpride.
Hermotherwouldn’twishhertobeconsumedbysorrowasthepaintingseemedtosuggest.

“AreyoucertainthatIdonotexudesuchsadness?”sheasked,stillafraidofhisanswer.Still

concernedthathewouldnotanswerherclearly.

Hestudiedherfacethenexplained,“Youaresad,butyouaremanythings.Youarecurious,alive,full

ofhungerforyournewlife.”

Shedrewinasmall,relievedbreath.“You’vegiventhattome,youknow.This,too.”
“Ihavenot,”heprotested.
“Youhave,”sheinsisted.
Hebrushedhisfingersdiscreetlyagainsthers.“Imerelymadethepathavailabletoyou.Youarethe

onewhohasgonedownit.”

Itwastemptingtocontinuetoargue.Butevenasshewasabouttocounterhisstatement,sherealized

hewascorrect.

Ithadultimatelybeenshewhohadmadetheboldleap.Whatathingtorealize!Allherlife,ithadfelt

asiflifewereatideandshethebeach.Shecouldn’tescapethewavesthreateningtoengulfher.Butnow.
..Now,shewastheocean,creatingherowncurrent.

Shesmiledtoherselfandlookedagaintohermother.Thelastyearhadbeenfullofdoubt.Fulloffear.

..Butnow,shewasbeginningtotrulybelieveshecouldfacethefutureandliveashermotherwished.
Shecouldliveboldlyandfulfillherdreams.

Andrewhadshownherthat.
“You'resittingformenext.”
Opheliablinkedandturnedtowardtheyoungmanwhohadjustspokenwithundeniableoptimism.
Hermouthdroppedopen.
Somehowsheknew.Somethingabouthisbeautifuldressandyouthfulzeal.
Shegasped.“Areyou...”
“JohnMillais,madam,”herepliedwithabow.“Myapologiesforapproachingwithoutan

introduction,butweartistsneednosuchthing,dowe?”

Sheshookherhead,awed.“Yourwork,sir,itisthestuffofgods.”
Millaishadthegoodgracetoblushandduckhishead.“Ihavesometalent.”
Andrewlaughed.“Millaisismodest,buthedoesknowhe’soneofthegreats.”
Millaisgrinned.“IhavestudiedsinceIwasachild.”hesaidasifthatexplainedhisgenius.Thenhe

turnedbacktoOphelia.“Youwillsitforme?”

“Johnny,getyourtreacle-coveredfingersoffmymuse.”
“Yourwifeisyourmuse,”MillaisretortedasRossetticrossedtheroom,darkcurlswildabouthis

determinedface.

“Sheis,ofcourse,”Rossettiagreed,“butonecannotignoretheimportanceofOphelia’spotential.”
“Whichiswhyshewillsitforme,”Millaissaidpleasantly,apparentlynotintimidatedbyRossetti’s

bluster.

“You’rebothmistaken.She’ssittingformenext,”HuntdeclaredfrombehindAndrew.
“Ifeelasthoughwehavehadthisconversationbefore,”Opheliasaidbrightly,secretlypleased.How

couldshenotbe?Tohavethegreatestartistsofthedayclamberingtoworkwithher?

Hermotherturnedtothemadcollectionofartistsandsaid,“Dearboys,sheisnotatoytobeclutched.

Ifshewishes,youwillallshare.Afterall,itisherwork.I’msureyou’veallcreativityenoughtomanage
it.”

Rossetticoughed.He’dgrownquitefondofOphelia’smotheroverthemonthandheshovedhishair

backfromhisforeheadinadecidedlyboyishgesture.“You'reright,ofcourse.Imustrestforatleasttwo
months,nowthatthismasterpieceisdone.Ithasdrainedmeofallmyvigor.”

“Itssale,nodoubt,hasaddedtoyourdesiretorest,”addedHunt.
“Sale?”Opheliaqueried.

“Yes.”Rossettibeamed.“Mr.Ruskinpurchaseditthismorning.Foramarveloussum.”
“Acoup!”hermotherdeclared.
Asthemostimportantartcriticoftheday,Ruskin’sapprovalandpurchasehadjustsolidifiedher

placeintheartworld.

Awaveofpurejoycrashedoverher.DespitewhatAndrewsaid,noneofthiswouldhavebeen

possiblewithouthim.Nothersuccessorhermother’shappiness.

So,regardlessofthecrowd,sheslippedherhandbacktowardsAndrew’sandwoundherfingers

aroundhis.

Hestilled,butthenheenvelopedherhandinhis.
Andforabriefmoment,shefeltpeace.Morepeacethanshehadknowninsometime.Now,sheknew

exactlywhatshewishedtodo.RegardlessofAndrew’sreticence,theyweregoingto,atlast,betruly
close.Andnothingwasgoingtostandintheirway.

Chapter18

Whenyourchancecomes,donotturnawayinfear!

Seizeit!

Ophelia’sNotebook

Opheliagrippedthecharcoalinherfingers,notquitehardenoughtobreakit,butharderthansheshould.
Sheheldherbreathforalongmoment,marvelingatherownaudacityandAndrew’sabilitytosleep.

Long.Sinuous.Powerful.Hard.AllwordsthatcametomindasshestaredattheDukeofStark

stretchedoutnakedonhisbed,bathedintheglowofthefireandhersingletaper.

Well,shethoughthewasnaked.Thewhitelinensheetwasdrapedacrosshisgroinandwastwisted

aroundhislegsasif,atsomepointinthenightbeforeherinvasionofhisbedchamber,hehaddonebattle
withthebedclothes.

Whileshecouldn’tvouchforthatparticularareaofhisanatomy,therestofhimwasgloriouslynude.

Themassivefour-posterbedshouldhavebeendaunting.ButStarkdiminisheditslargenesswiththe
sprawlofhisbody.Hisarms,flungabovehisheadcarelessly,flauntedcarvedbicepsandforearmsso
muscledshecouldseethelinesofhisveinsbeneathhisburnishedskin.Whatwouldthosearmsfeellike
wrappedaroundher?

Safe?
Shehadn’tfeltsafeinyears.Itwasthethingshewantedmost.Ironically,thethingshewantedmost

wasimpossibletoattain.Lifeneverletonebesafe.Hadn’tshelearnedthatagainandagain?

So,ifAndrew’sarmsandbroadchest,withmusclesthatstrainedhissmoothskin,werenotmeantfor

safety,whatexactlyweretheyfor?

Afewweeksago,sheneverwouldhavehadthecouragetofindout.Evenafewdaysago.Butever

sinceshe’dtakenhermother’sadviceandbeguntoallowherselftotrulylive,thingshadchanged.The
lastfewdayshadbeenanever-endingspreeofmeetingwithRossetti,drinkinggin,baskinginglorious
paintings,andwatchinghermotherdelightineverythingabouther.

Ithadbeeneye-opening.Marvelous.Freeing.AndAndrewhadmadeitallpossible.Evennow,he

wasdoingthingsthatsheneverthoughtpossibleagain.

Thecharcoalhoveredovertheparchmentthatshe’dbroughtwithheronhernocturnalraid.Shehadn’t

drawnorpaintedinmonths.Alldesiretocreatehadfadedfromherwitheachdayofhermama’sillness.
Butdayafterday,filledwithAndrew’sencouragementandherexposuretoRossetti,themanfully
possessedbywhatevermusehadclaimedhim,hadmadeherrealizebeingamodelwasn’tenough.
Rossettihadbeensofullofactionandlifeashe’dworked.She’dsat.

Shedidn’twishtobetheobject.Shewishedtobetheartist.Andtodothat,she’dhavetofindher

muse.

StaringatAndrew’snakedform,shecouldn’tdenythathewasit.He’dawakenedapartofhersoul

she’dthoughthaddied.

Workingquickly,pushingasideallextraneousthought,sheallowedthecharcoaltodanceoverthe

parchment.ShetracedhergazeoverAndrew’sjet-blackhair,whichteasedhissharpcheekbones.She
studiedhisstrongthroatandthehollowjustwhereitmethisclavicle.

Shepaused,temptedtoreachoutandtouchthosedefinedbones.Witheachpassingmomentthatshe

trulyallowedherselftolookathim,thesilenceofthenightbecamemoreunbearable.Untilthecrackleof
thefireseemedasloudasacannonandherownheartbeatasharshasthunder.

Shivering,shepulledherdressinggowncloser,butitwasafruitlessgesture.Shewasn’tcold.Her

breathcaughtinherthroatandastrangetinglingheatdanceddownherspine,nestledinherbellyand
driftedlowertotheplacebetweenherlegs.

Sheshookherhead.Tonightshewasheretodrawhim.Nomore.Itdidn’tmatterthatshe’dbeen

beyonddaringandenteredhisbedchamberwithouthispermission...Inthemiddleofthenight.Shewas
goingtoleavejustassoonasshe’dgottendonearudimentarysketch.Truly.Ofcourse,justthisvery
afternoonshehaddecidedthatheshouldnolongerresistthefurtheringoftheirintimacy.

Somehow,shewouldmakehimseethat.Tonight,shewouldsimplygloryinhispresence.
Afterall,hewasafitsubjectforherreturntoherpassion.Herart.Heneedneverknowthatshehad

snuckintohisroom,determinedtolethersoulblazefromthesparkhehadkindled.

“Howlongdoyouintendtostare?”
Shejumpedatthoselow,slightlyamusedwords.“Wh-what?”
Hestretched,archinghisback,thesheetslippingdangerouslybutnotrevealingwhatwasbeneath.

Withonlytheliquidsortofrelaxationoneobtainswhenutterlyrelaxed,heopenedhiseyes,thenpinned
herwithahot,languorouslook.“Don’tyouwishtotouch?”

Allthesenseshe’deverpossessed,includingtheabilitytospeak,slippedawayfromher.

Desperately,shegraspedforsomedisdainfulreply.Butshehadnone.Shecouldn’tlietohim.Fromthe
firsttimethey’dmet,she’dwantedhistouch.Ithadonlybeencircumstancethathadpreventedhimmaking
lovetoherbefore,andnowwasherchance.

Wasthatwhyshe’dslippedintohisroom?Eventhoughshe’dsodeterminedlytoldherselfitwasfor

herart?Well,itwasforherart.Butwhynotmore?

“Ophelia?”heaskedsoftly,hernameasoundofworshipacrosshislips.
Therewasnothingcondescendingorarrogantinthetoneofhisvoiceorthewayhelookedather.That

slow,patientheatwasdesire.Nottheneedtoconquer.

Quiteunbidden,shewetherlipswiththetipofhertongue.Thirsty.Thirstytoknowhim.
Heproppedhimselfupontooneelbow,themusclesofhischestworkingwitheaseattheslight

movement.Alookofindecisiondarkenedhisfeatures,struckbysomethinghe’dneverknownbefore.
Doubt.“Ishouldaskyoutoleave.Eastonwasright,youknow.Thiscouldruinyourreputation.”

Shestood,theeffortcolossalonhersuddenlytremblinglegs,andshruggedoffherdressinggown,

leavingherinnothingbutherthinnight-rail.“Myreputationbedamned.”

Hiseyeswidened.“Ophelia,beserious—”
“Doyouwishmetoleave?”Shecouldn’ttakethisback-and-forthanylonger.Sheneededtoknow.In

fact,sheneededthis.Him.Thefeelofhisarmswrappedaroundher,stealingherawayfrompainandfear.

Butwouldherejecther?
Hehesitated,thenhisgazemadeaslow,torturousjourneyfromthehemofhergown,overthecurveof

herhipandwaist,pausingatherbreasts,thenlingeringonhereyes.Whentheirgazesmet,allhisprotest
diedaway,andheheldouthishandtoherinanswer.

Opheliaclutchedhercharcoalandparchmentandpushedonefootforwardthenanotheruntilher

thighsbrushedagainstthethickdownmattress.

“Whatwereyoudoing?”heaskedgently.
Sheswallowed,suddenlyfeelingverysilly.“Sketchingyou.”

“Truly?”hequeried,theplanesofhishardfacesofteninginsurprise.
Nodding,inchbycarefulinch,sheheldoutthesketch,wishingshecouldsomehowhideitawaysohe

mightneverseeit.Shecouldhideherfeelingsfromhiminherspeech,inhereyes,inherdemeanor.Butin
hersketching?

Suchafeatwasimpossible.Forinherartweretherootofhersoulandthesourceofallhersecrets.
Heclaspedthepaperandstilled.“Ilook—”Amuscleinhisthroatworked.“Ilookinnocent.”
Asmiletuggedatherlips.“Youare.”
Hisblackbrowarchedinchallenge.
“Yourheart,Andrew,”sheinsisted.“It’sstillthatofaboy,hopingthattheworldisbetterthanittruly

is.”

Carefully,hesettheparchmentonthecornerofhisbedandliftedhiscrystalblueeyestohers.“Isthe

worldsoverybad,then?”

Sheforcedherselftoholdhisgaze.Tonotyield.Shewasn’talittlegirlanymore.“Theworldisnota

kindplace.”

“Thenatleastletmebekindtoyou.”Hereachedoutthatstronghandagain.Hisbold,hardfingers

offeringhercomfort.

Herheartslammedinsideherribsasshetookit.Thefeelofhisroughhandoverhersoftonenearly

undidher.Itwassogentle.Socareful,yetfirm.“Youalreadyare.”

Hetugged,pullingherontothebed.
Sheyelped,butbeforeshecouldgivewordtohershock,hismouthwasoverhers.
Ifshe’dexpectedsofttenderness,shewouldhavebeensorelydisappointed.Andrewtookhermouth

withahungersowild,shecouldn’tdrawbreath.

Insteadoffearathiswildkiss,herowndesiregrewunderhisministrations.Shewantedmore,not

less.Sheyankedherhandfromhisandwrappedherhandsaroundhisback,pullinghimtowardher.
Desperatetofeelhislong,strongbodyagainstherown.

Inoneswiftandstunninglyefficientmovement,Andrewreacheddown,tookthehemofhernightgown

andwhippeditupthenoffherbody.

Shedidn’thavetimetotrulyregisterthatshewasnakedinhisbed.Notunderhisgloriousassault.His

tonguedelvedintohermouth,tasting,stealingherbreath,stealingherthoughtswithhispassion.

Archingupagainsthim,sheletoutasoftcryasherbreastsbrushedhishot,muscledbody.
Hepressedherdownintothemattressandbroketheirkiss.
Hisfacewastense,hischestpumpingwitheachstrugglingbreath.“This...Iswhatyouwant?”
Shemoanedinprotest,tryingtotughimbacktowardher.
Heresisted.“There’snogoingbackafterthis.”
Shepaused,realizingthatherconsentmeantagreatdealtohim.Incontrasttotheirwildmovements

justbefore,shegentlytookhisfaceinherhands.“Ineverwanttogobackagain.Iwantyou,Andrew.”

Assoonassheutteredthosewords,agrowltorepasthislips.Hetookherhandsinoneofhis,then

pinnedthemtothemattressinoneofhispalms.

Slowly,hekisseddownherthroat,thenbitjusthardenoughtocausetheslightestpain.
Shecriedout,unsurehowshecouldenjoysomethingsostrange.
Inapology,hegentlykissedthetenderflesh.Languorously,hekissedherbreasts,tracinghernipples

withhistongue,teasingher,torturingherwithhisslowmarauding.

Shepulledagainsthisgriptonoavail.
Justwhenshethoughtshecouldtakenomore,hedescendedhismouth,gentleagainstherbelly.
Itwasallsoincrediblethatshedidn’tquiteunderstandwhyhekeptkissingloweruntil,allofa

sudden,intensepleasurerippledfrombetweenherthighs.

Straining,sheliftedherheadupfromthebedandstareddownathim.

Andrew’sblackhaircaressedherthighs.Andhismouth?Hismouthwasfirmlypressedoverhermost

intimateplace,aplacesherarelytouchedherself.Itshouldhavebeenhorrifying,sinceitwassucha
privateplace.Instead,thevisionofhismouthworkingoverherandthefeelofhistonguetracingher,
werethemostshockinglywonderfulthingsshe’deverexperienced.

Witheachflickofhistongue,shefeltherselfcomingundone.Surely,shewasgoingtounravel.

Moaning,shedroppedherheadbacktothebedandtosseditbackandforth.“Andrew?”

Hedidn’tanswer,butincreasedthepaceandpressureofhistongue.Hesuckedeversoslightlyand

herentireworldexplodedintowhite,unrelentingpleasure.Waveafterwaveofitunfurledoverherand
shebarelyrealizedhe’dletgoherhands.

Pushingherthighsapart,Andrewteasedtheheadofhissexagainstheropening.Itwasenoughto

bringherbacktosomelevelofreality.Shearchedagainsthim.Suddenly,sheknewshewasmissing
somethingandhewasabouttogiveittoher.“Now,Andrew!”

Athercommand,hegrippedherhips,thenrockedagainsther.
Shewincedatthepressure,butshewassoreadyforhim,shebarelyfeltthepainashethrustdeep

intoherbody.Witheachthrust,thatwildfirebuiltagaininsideher.Hotterandhotter,untilshewassure
shewasgoingtobeconsumed.

Alookofcompletesurrenderchangedhisfacefromthehardmasksheknewtooneofutter

vulnerability.Heleanedforward,seizedherfacewithhishandsandkissedher.

Thepressofhisbodyandthepowerofhiskissfannedthatfireintoaninfernoand,onceagain,

pleasureexplodeddeepwithinher.

Shecriedoutagainsthismouthandwrappedherarmsandlegsaroundhim.Inthismoment,she

wantedtoclaimhimandneverlethimgo.

Butshecouldn’t.Evenasthepleasuresweptthroughher,sheknewthatpleasurewasallshecouldlet

itbe.

Chapter19

Onceyou’veembracedpassion,

onecannevergobacktothemundane,

nomatterhowpainfultheprice.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Andrew’sbodyshookwithanecstasythatvergedonpainashethrustintoOphelia’sbodyonelasttime.
MyGod,ithadneverbeenlikethatbefore.

Itwastheonlythoughthewascapableofatpresent.
Neverinallhislifehadawomanpushedhimtosuchawild,completelyexposedplace.
Heloweredhimselfoverherbody,restingonhisforearms.Christ,he’dwantedtobiteher,totakeher

sofiercelyitcouldneverbemistakentowhomshebelonged.

“Andrew?”shewhispered.“Areyouwell?”
Asoft,yetpainedlaughrumbledfromhislips.“Yes.MyGod.Yes.”
Softly,sheslidherhandsalonghisbackandhegroaned,lovingthefeel.Hadanyoneevertouchedhim

withsuchtendernessinhisbed?Genuinetenderness?Ifso,hecouldn’trecallit.Carefully,headjustedto
hisside,notwantingtohurtherwithhisweight.

Hecradledheragainsthim,holdingherinhisarms,tryingnottothinkaboutthestrange,achingfeeling

inhischest.Itwassomysterious,thisbeautiful,painfulsensation.Allhewantedwastoholdherinhis
armsandneverlethergo.

Adangerousthoughtoccurredtohim.
Maybehedidn’thaveto.
Hestrokedhercheek,thenslippedhishandbackintoherlonghair.Couldanythingeverbemore

beautifulthanthismomentwithher?

Heswallowed.Histhoughtsweresoatoddswithhisusuallineofthinking,hewashalf-afraidhe’d

losthismind.“Ophelia?”

Shenestledagainsthim.“Mmm?”
“Willyoumarryme?”Themomentthewordswereoutofhismouth,hecouldhardlybelievehe’d

saidthem.Butitwashisownvoicehe’dheard.Andasthatfatalphrasehoveredintheair,heknewhe
didn’twishtotakeitback,nomatterhowoutofcharacter.

Shetensedagainsthim.
Thelongsilencethatfollowedsankin,guttinghim.
Ithadbeenarashandimpulsivequery.Still,hehadn’texpectedquitesucharesponse.“Ophelia?”he

promptedatlast.

Lettingoutalong,slowbreaththatseemedtocarrytheweightoftheworld,shecontinuedtohold

herselftaut.“Yes?”

“I’veruinedthisforyou,haven’tI?”Ithadbeenherfirstnightofpassionandhe’dmadeitquite

banal.But,damnit,mostwomenlongedforthewordshe’duttered.Theydideverythingtheycouldto

encourageamantoutterthem.

Opheliawasnotmostwomen.Howcouldhehaveforgotten?Evenforamoment?
“Perhapsitisstupidofmenottosayyeswithoutquestionorthought,butIneverthoughtyou’dask

suchathing,”sheadmitted.Onceagain,silencefilledthefire-litchamber.Pullingback,sheraisedherself
upontoonearm,lookingdownonhim.“Idonotwishahusband,Andrew.”

Heclosedhiseyes,fightingoffthesuddenimageofhimself,Ophelia,and...Dareheadmit,achild?

Foroneunbelievablemoment,he’driskedthepromiseofafamily.“Youwishtobealone?”

“I’mnotafraidtobealone,ifthat’swhatyoumean,”shesaidgently.Shereachedoutandplacedher

handlightlyonhisshoulder.“Butyouare?”

Hegrimacedandturnedhisheadtotheside,unwillingtomeethergazefull-on.Staringintothe

fireplaceacrosstheroom,hesaidflatly,“HowcanIbeafraidoftheonlythingI’veeverknown?”

“Surelynot,”shescoffed.
Angercoursedthroughhimsuddenly.Didshethinkshewastheonlyonethatlifewasunkindto?God,

itwasselfishofhim,butsuddenlyhelongedtoshakeher.Tomakeherseethatsufferinghappenedall
around,thatnoteveryonewaslovedbysomeoneasshewas,andthatonehadbesttakehappinessinhand
whenonehadthechance.

Notjustpleasure.Pleasurewasn’tenough.
Hecouldhavecursedhimself.He’dbeenpreachingpleasuretoheraslife.Notfamily.Notlove.He’d

hadenoughemptypleasureforalifetime.Andhewastiredofbeingalone.“I’veneveronceknownthe
loveyou’veknownfromyourmother,”hegritted.

“Butyourparents—”
“Astheheirtoaduke,Iwastooimportanttogotoschool,soIwaskeptupinmyrealm,mysectionof

thehouse.”Hischesttightenedwithtraitorousemotion.“Always,Ihadanarmyofnannies,tutors,and
servants.Isawmymotherandfather,perhaps,onceaweek,sometimesonceamonth,foroveradecade.”

ItwasimpossibletomeetOphelia’sgaze.Ifhehad,hemighthavedonesomethingridiculous,likelet

tearsslipdownhischeeks.Somethinghehadn’tdonesincehewasinleadingstrings.

“Tellme,”shewhispered.
“TheytraveledallthetimeandIneverknewthem.Oh,Ireceiveddisapprovingletters,lecturingme

onmybehavioratschool.”Heswallowed,histhroatsqueezing.“Theybothdiedoffeversononeoftheir
toursofIndia.Inevergottosaygoodbye.Inevergottocomfortmymotherasshelaydying.Mostlikely,
shewouldn’thavewantedmeto.Infact,onlyherportraitconvincesmethatIamcorrectinmy
recollectionofhercountenance.Ihavebeenaloneallmylife,Ophelia.”

“Andnowyoudon’twishit?”shewhispered.
Heshookhishead.
“Fearofbeingaloneisn’tagoodreasontowed.”
“I’dtakecareofyou.I’d—”
“Don’t.”Shepulledaway.“I’vehadmyfillofmenwhoweresupposedtotakecareofme.They’ve

failed.Myfathercouldn’thelpdying,butwhenhedid,heleftusinpoorhands.Myhalf-brother’shands.
Andhecastusout.SoforgivemeifIwouldprefertotakecareofmyself.Evenmymotherisabandoning
me,thoughshehasnochoiceinthematter.”Sheshookherheadfirmly,herfaceameresilhouette.“I’m
sorry,Andrew,butIwillnotbegivingmyselfintoanyone’skeeping.”

Hewantedtoargue,butthecold,bitterangerinhervoicestoppedhim.Hewouldn’tconvinceher.

Nottonight.Possiblynotever.

“Iwanttoenjoythistimewithyou,Andrew.Pleaseletme.”
Lether?Whatwashesupposedtodo?Kickheroutofhisbedifsherefusedtomarryhim?Shewas

doingexactlyashe’doriginallyplannedforher.Shewasembracingpassion.Andhe’dneverfeltmore
alone.Ormorethefool.Becausehewasamaninlove.

“Whateveryouwish,Ophelia,”hesaid.Andhemeantit,withallhissaddenedheart.

***

“Whattheblazeswereyouthinking,Stark?”

ThenoteofdisdainintheEarlofEaston’svoicedidnothingtoalleviateAndrew’sdarkmood.And,

frankly,hewassuddenlywishingthatEastonhadstayedinthecountryandnotfulfilledhisdamned
promise.Henevershouldhaveagreedtomeetthemanattheirclub.Notaftertheirlastmeeting.“Youtold
metoaskforherhand.”

“Andshemadeitdamnedclearshewouldn’thaveyouattheball.”Eastonleanedbackinthelush,

wing-backedchair.“Inevertookyouforafool.”

Andrewstaredatthecheerilyburningfireinthemarblehearth,silentlycursingitswarmth,beforehe

foundthewherewithaltoreply.“Ifyoumustknow,neitherdidIuntilaboutsunrisethismorning.Now,I’d
sayImightbethekingoffools.Theydosaylovewillmakeonedopreposterousthings.”

Eastonleanedforward,theleatherchaircreakingeversoslightly.Hisgreeneyesturnedhard.
“Love?”hespat.“Loveisnotathingthatoccursbetweenanyonebutfamily.Betweenamananda

woman?”Hisupperlipcurledindisgust.“Thereislust,destruction,andheartbreak.”

ThepoisondrippingfromEaston’swordspenetratedAndrew’sownself-pity.Whatthehellhad

happenedtomakethemansodamnedemphatic?Andrewclearedhisthroat,raisedhishand,andcaught
theeyeofasilver-hairedporter.Theyweregoingtoneedcopiousamountsofliquor.

Drinkingthelastofhisbrandyinaquickswallow,heboughtamomentbeforesaying,“Idon’tknowif

I’dgothatfar.”

“Iwould.Andfurther,”Eastonsaid,thosedarkeyesofhishalf-dead.“Lovewilldestroyyourlifeand

thelivesofthoseclosetoyou.”

Somehow,Andrewdidn’tthinkEastonwasspeakingofoneofhisownamours.Hisangerwastoo

sinister,toofulloffury.TheEastonhe’dknownwouldhavejustshruggedoffafailedloveaffair.Andhe
couldn’t,forthelifeofhim,imagineEastonaskingawomantomarryhim.“Isupposeaskingyoufor
advice—”

“Getridofher.Bedher,ifyouwill.She’smadeitclearshehasnowishtoprotectherreputation.”

Eastonsmoothedabroadhandoverhisblackbrocadewaistcoat.“Butifshehasaholdoveryourheart?
Run.”

“What’smadeyousuchacoldbastard,Easton?”Andrewwhispered.
Easton’slipstwistedinpainedsmile.“Life,Stark.Life.She’sanunforgivingmistress.Andshe’s

taughtmewell.”

Andrewhesitated.“You’vebecomeunforgiving?”
“Idon’tneedtogiveforgiveness,”hereplied.
Theporterapproachedsilentlyandleftafulldecanterofbrandyonthesmallmahoganytablebeside

Andrew.Pouringituntiltheamberliquidtrembledagainstthebrim,heasked,“Whatdoyouneed,then?”

Eastonthrustouthisglass.“Vengeance.”
AchillcreptdownAndrew’sspineatthatoneunrelentingword.Eastonwasonadangerouspathand,

fornow,therewasnothinghecoulddobutwaitandwatchandpursuethesolutionstohisownproblems.
Vengeance?No.OpheliaandLadyDarlington,forallthepaintheymightbringintohislife,hadtaughthim
tofacelifewithmorestrengththanthat.

’TwasapitythatEastonwaslost.He’dbeensuchagoodmanonce.
“Stark?”Eastondemanded.
“Mmm?”
“Forgether,”Eastonsaidsoftly,almostkindly.“It’stheonlywaytosurvive,oldman.”

Andrewsmiledtightlyandnodded.Butinhisheart,heknewhe’dneverforgetOphelia.Howcould

oneforgetthemoonandsunandstarsonceexposedtotheirgloryorthesoftwarmththathe’dfeltuponhis
heartforthefirsttimeinhislife?No.He’dneverforget.

Chapter20

Amotheristhemostwonderful

thinginthisworld,

andit’salwaysterrifyingtocontemplateherloss.

Ophelia’sNotebook

“You’reoutofsorts,”LadyDarlingtonsaid.Sheclutchedatthevelvetblankettuckedfirmlyabouther
delicatelegswithred-glovedhands.Underthefaint,late-afternoonLondonsun,bracedbycushions,she
lookedawispofawoman.

Ithadbeensuggestedthattheygoout,butLadyDarlingtonhadgentlybrushedthatnotionasidewitha

handevenmorefrailthanthedaybefore.SotheyhadadjournedtoAndrew’scourtyard.

Opheliagrippedthearmsofthechair,wishingshecouldchannelallherfearintothebamboo.Fearof

hermother’spassing,fearofwhathadtranspiredwithAndrew.

Ofcourse,hermotherwouldnotice.Eveninherquicklydecliningstate,hermothermissednothing.
“Well?”hermotherprompted.
Ophelialeanedbackinthebamboochair.Shecouldn’tbeartolookathermotherifshewasgoingto

tellalie.

“No,Mama,”shesaid.“IsimplywonderifMr.Millaiswill,indeed,agreetoteachme.Heisso

talentedandIadmirehimsomuch,itwouldbeheartbreakingifhesaidno.”

“Lookatme,Ophelia.”
Opheliasqueezedhereyestight.Itwassodifficult,hermother’sembraceofhonesty.Howcouldone

facesomanyhardthingsatonce?Atlast,sheopenedhereyesandturnedtohermother.

Penetratingpale-blueeyesblazedoutfromLadyDarlington’spaper-whiteface.Eveninheropium-

lacedstate,therewasanotherworldlyknowledgeinhereyesthatcouldn’tbeignored.“DoIlook”—she
drewinaslightlyshakybreath—“asifI’vefallenoffaturnipcart?”

Opheliafoughtherdistressatthestrangeturnhermother’sbreathinghadtakeninthelastday.

Labored,shallow,andimpossiblenottonotice.Opheliawishedshecouldpretenditwasn’tso.

Insteadofthinkingonhowillhermothertrulywas,sheansweredthesillyquestion.“You’venever

riddeninaturnipcart.”

“Exactly.Iamnofool.”Hermothersmiledsoftly.Adreamysmile,despitetheseriousnessofher

words.“You’vequarreledwithAndrew.”

Ophelia’scheeksburned.Quarreled?Oh,she’ddonesomuchmorethanthat.She’dgivenherselfto

himineverysenseoftheword.Well,almosteverysense.Whenhe’daskedforitall,she’ddeniedhim.
Butshecouldn’tgivehimwhathewished.Shecouldn’ttrustAndrewwithherhand.Shewasaboutto
haveherheartrippedoutbyhermother’sdeath.Howcouldsheeverriskfeelingsuchpainagain?Giving
intolovewouldonlyensuresuchpainwouldfindheroncemore.Perhapsnotnow,butoneday.She
couldn’tbearthat.

Infact,assoonashermotherhadslippedfromthisworld,she’dbedonewithAndrew.Surely,

Andrewwouldjustremindherofhermother’sdeath.Andthat,shewouldn’tbeabletobear.

Ared-glovedhandwrappedhersandOpheliajoltedoutofherreverie.“Mama?”
“Yousleptwithhim,”hermotherwhispereddramatically.
“Thatisnotofyourbusiness,”Opheliawhisperedback,herthroattighteningaroundtheshocking

words.Sheshouldhaveknownthathermotherwouldseehowitwasandrefusetobesilent.Ifanything,
impendingdeathhadmadeLadyDarlingtonasboldasthewildestracehorse.Nothingheldherback.

Sheforcedherselftofacehermother.
Hermother’sglancehadaltered,aslightglazedlooktakingoverhereyes.LadyDarlingtonseemedto

seemuchmorethanjusteverydaythings.Shewasslippingawaytoadifferentplace,herspiritseeingthat
strange,mysteriousplacebeforeherbodywasreadytoleave.

“Mother...I...IdidsleepwithAndrew.”
“Marvelous.Isheagoodlover?”
Opheliagroaned,wishingshecouldrunfromsuchanawkwardconversation,butshecouldrefuseher

mothernothing.“Yes.OratleastIassumeso.”

“Youenjoyedit?”
Opheliagaveatightnod,butthenanuncontrollablesmiletiltedherlips,warmingherheart.Thefeel

ofAndrew’sarmsabouther,hislipsonherswerenotsofargone.He’dmadeherfeellikeshewasthe
sunandhebutaplanetbaskinginherlife-givingrays.“Itwaswonderful.”

“Good.”Shenoddedslowly.“I’mgladAndrewliveduptohisreputation.Nowthatthatisunderway,

Iexpectyoutwoshallenjoyeachotherverymuch.”

ThewarmthencasingOphelia’sheartbegantofade.Andrewhadlookedsodisappointedintheearly

hoursasshe’drefusedhim.“Heaskedmetomarryhim.”

Hermothertiltedherfacetocatchthesun.“Iamnotsurprised.”
“No?”
“Mmm.IknewhewasthemanforyoufromthemomentIsawyoutwotogether.”
Opheliawastemptedtorollhereyes,butshecouldn’t.“WhatamItodo?”
Facestillturneduptothesunlikeaflowerdrinkinginthelastwarmthbeforedusk,sheasked,“You

don’twishtomarryhim?”

Opheliabitherlowerlip,thensaidtersely,“No.”
“It’snotjustyourfearspeaking?”hermotherasked.Slowly,sheloweredherchinandturnedhergaze

toherdaughter.Gently,shereachedoutandtouchedOphelia’scheek.

TearsburnedOphelia’seyesatthatsofttouch.Shelongedtoclingtoeverygesture,tomolditintoa

memory.“I’mnotafraid.NotofAndrew.”

“Aren’tyou?”LadyDarlingtondidn’tlookaway,butrathercuppedherhandalongOphelia’sfaceand

simplyheldhergaze.“Itisperfectlyacceptabletobeafraid,mylove.Fearisapartoflife.”

TearssprangtoOphelia’seyes.Howwasshegoingtosurvivewithouthermother’slove?Andshe

wasafraid.Afraidofthepainofloss.“Haven’twealreadyhadthisconversation?”

“Well,itseemsweneedtohaveitagain.”
“Iam...Afraidofwhatitwillbelikewhenyou’vegone.”Herwordspouredout,fastandangry.

“ButIshan’tmarryoutofloneliness!”

LadyDarlington’ssilverbrowsdrewtogether.“Ineversuggestedyoushould.”
“Andrewdid,moreorless.”Sheletoutaharshsigh.“Oratleast,that’swhyhewishestomarryme.”
“Hesaidthat?”hermotherasked,surprised.
“Yes.”Opheliafoughtthetearslesttheyoverwhelmher.
“Nomentionoflove?”
“No,”shesaidtightly,notwillingtoadmithowmuchthathadhurt.

“You’reafraidhe’llhurtyou,”hermothersaidsimply.
Opheliaopenedhermouthtodenyit,butbeforeshecoulduttertheblatantfalsehood,Andrew’srich

voicecamefromthedoorwayacrossthecourtyard.

“LadyDarlington,”hecalled.
Despitehertired,shakingbreath,LadyDarlingtonlitupatthesightoftheduke.“Youngman,youhave

beenabsentfartoolong!”

Andrewsteppedintothecourtyard,hisgraycoatswirlingabouthisblacktrousers.Helookedaskance

atOphelia,almosthesitating,butthenheturnedhisgazetoLadyDarlingtonandhisdoubtseemedtofade
away.

Opheliafoldedherhandsdemurelyinherlap,determinedheshouldn’tseeherdistress.Hadhe

overheardanyofherconversationwithhermother?Fromhisrelaxedcountenance,itseemednot.

CrossingtoLadyDarlingtonwitharmsoutstretched,hebentdownandlightlykissedhercheek.“Do

forgiveme.IhadameetingthismorningIcouldn’tdeny.”

“Well,onemustkeeptheirappointments,”LadyDarlingtonagreed.
Andrewbeameddownathermother.“Speakingofappointments,youandIhaveone,dowenot?”
Ophelia’sheartspasmed.Love.Andrewlovedhermother.Itwasutterlyclearfromthesoftlookupon

hisface.Helovedhermotherinthewayhe’dneverbeenabletolovehisown.

“Mydearboy,alas,itisIwhoshallbecomingupshort.”
“Neversayso!”heprotestedwithexaggeratedcheer.
“ImustadmitthatIamatrifletiredtoday.”
“Well,then,whatshouldyouliketodoifnotawalkinthepark?”
LadyDarlingtonlookedatOphelia,agentlesmiletiltingherthinlips,thenreturnedhergazeto

Andrew.“I’dliketogouptomyroom.AndAndrew,I’dlikeyoutoplayforme.”

Opheliaswallowed.
“Anddarlingdaughter,I’dlikeyoutocomeandholdmyhand.”Hermothergaveasmall,contented

nod.“Myjourneyisalmostdone,Ithink.”

Thoseheart-rendingwordsfelluponOphelia’searsandshewantedtoscreamthathermother

shouldn’tsaysuchthings.Butshecouldn’t.Thesuretyinhermother’svoiceandgazerebuffedanydenial
oftheupsettingstatement.

Opheliacouldn’tspeak.Herthroatwassuddenlytootight,sosheforcedasmile,instead.
Andrew’sownsmilewavered,buthedidn’tfalter.Rather,hereacheddown,tuckedonearmbeneath

hermother’skneesandtheotheraroundhershoulders.Inonemove,hesweptLadyDarlington’schildlike
bodyupagainsthischest.“Letusgothen...”

“Mama,”LadyDarlingtonwhispered.
Andrew’sgazedartedtoOphelia,butthenheglanceddownatLadyDarlington,hiseyesglazedwitha

sheenofmoisture.“Yes,Mama.”

Opheliacouldscarcebelieveit,butthetermwasmostappropriate.Nomatterthattherewasnoblood

relation,therewasalovebetweenhermotherandAndrew.Opheliafoundherselfsmilingwithout
restraintthroughhersadness.HermotherhadbroughtaloveintoAndrew’slifethatnooneelsecould.A
typeoflovethateveryoneneededandshe’dbeenluckyenoughtohaveallherlife.Amother’slove.

Chapter21

Paincannomorebeavoided

thantherisingofthesun.So,donotrunfromit.Youcannot.

Simplyembraceitandknowthatitwillonedaypass.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Opheliarestedherhandonthedoorknobandtookonelastlookathermother’ssleepingform,ensuring
herselfthat,yes,LadyDarlington’schestwasstillrisingandfalling.Opheliawasthankfulthatshewas
stillaliveevenif,now,theactionwasshallowandfast.Intruth,notonlywashermother’sbreath
abnormal,herbody,eveninsleep,wastense.

Pain.Atlonglast,noteventhelaudanumwasrelievinghermother’sdiscomfort.
ShetorehergazeawayfromthedistressingimageandmetMrs.Rourke’seyes.ThecapableIrish

womansmiled,herowngazefullofknowing.“Gonow,m’dear,”shewhispered.“Haveacupoftea,
refreshyourself,andthencomeback,butnotbefore.”

Sodeepwashermother’ssleepthatshedidn’tstir.
Mrs.Rourke’skindnessandacceptanceofhermother’sstateonlyaddedtothelumpforminginher

throat.

Hermotherwasgoingtoslipawayverysoon.Possiblytonight.Possiblytomorroworthenextday.It

wasimpossibletotell.She’dbeentolditcouldbequickonceachangeoccurred.

Andinthelasttwodays,adefinitechangehadoccurred.Gonewasthemischievousladywhohad

teasedAndrewandreveledintravelingtoanartist’sstudio.

Oh,hermothercouldstillmakelightofthings,butnowonlyforafewmoments,beforeclosingher

eyesanddriftingoff.’Twasasifshewasanewbornbabeagain.Helpless,unabletocareforherself.

OphelianoddedatMrs.Rourkeandforcedherselftoshutthedoorbehindher.Shehadtokeepher

strengthupuntiltheend.Andthatmeantabreathoffreshair,agulpedmealandasplashofwateroverher
face.

Whenhermotherwasgone,thenshecouldcollapse.
Whenhermotherwasgone...
Ophelia’sfacecrumpledandawailofpainthreatenedtobreakfreefromherthroat.Sheclappeda

handoverhermouthandsobbedagainstit.Shestaggeredawayfromhermother’sroom,cryingsilently
againstherhand,notcaringthatshewasinthehallway.

Atlast,shecouldn’tputonefootinfrontoftheotherasgriefpoundedher.Sheturnedtothewalland

pressedherforeheadintothecool,sage-greenbrocade.Liftingherpalms,sherestedthemagainstthe
fabric,lettingthewallholdupherweight.

Howwasshegoingtomanage?
Howwasshegoingtolethermothergo?
“Ophelia?”
Andrew.

Hernameonhislipsshotthroughherbrainlikethecrackofapistol.Shejerkedawayfromthewall

andwipedherhandsoverherface.“Yes?”

“Oh,Ophelia,”hesaidsoftly.
Shelongedforhimtotakeherintohisarms,toholdhertight.Butafterherrejectionofhim,they’d

beenkindtoeachotherbutdistant,gettingalong,nodoubt,forhermother’sbenefit.“Iwillbewellina
moment,”shemanaged.

Tohershock,hesnorted.
“Don’tberude,”shehuffed.
“You’reamarvelouswoman,Ophelia,butsometimesyouareasmuchafoolasI.”
Herspinestraightenedandsheopenedhermouth,readytogivehimaset-down.
Andrewgrabbedherhands,tuggedherforwardandthensweptherupinanenvelopingembrace.

Thosepowerfularmsofhiscradledher.

Sheresistedforjustamoment,thenmeltedagainsthim,takingallthecomforthewaswillingtogive.
Gently,hepressedhishandagainstthenapeofherneck,urginghertoresthercheekagainsthis

shoulder.“Itisperfectlyacceptabletocry,mydarling.”

Hiskindwordsunlockedhertearsonceagain.Sheblinkedrapidly,notwishingtogiveinbut,finally,

shegrabbedontohim,grabbingfistfulsofhisshirt,holdingonasifheandhealonecouldkeepherafloat
inthiswretchedseaofpain.“I-Idon’tknowwhatI’mgoingtodowithouther!”

Andshecried,eachbreathasob,herwholebodyshaking.Shesoakedhercheeksandthelinenofhis

shirt.Shecrieduntiltherewerenotearsleftand,still,shecouldn’tstopthesoundsofpainbreakingfree
fromherheart.

Hesaidnothing,butheldher,rockinggentlysidetoside.
“Sh-She’sn-notevengoneyet.”Howwasshegoingtofacehermother’sdeathifthiswashowshe

behavednow?

“You’reacceptingit,sweetheart,”hewhispered.“Thatshe’sreallygoingtodie.”
Shepaused.Itwastrue.She’dknownitwascoming,butshehadn’tacceptedit.She’dbeenangry.

She’dpretendedthatallwouldbefine.Butnow,withhermotherbedriddenandnolongerasresponsive,
therewasnowaytoignorethetruth.

“Ioweyouanapology,”hesaid,strokingherhairsoftlywithhislargehand.
“Youdo?”
Heletoutasigh.“Yes.Iaskedyousomethingtheotherday—”
Shetensedagainsthisembrace.“Andrew,Idon’twant—”
“Justallowmetosaythis,please,”hepleaded.
Shenoddedagainsthischestdespitehermisgivings,butshe’dneverheardhimspeakthusly.
Herestedhischeekagainstthetopofherhead.“Iaskedyoutomarrymeandmadeitsoundasifit

wasbecauseIwasafraidtobealone.Orthatyoushouldmarrymebecauseyouwillsoonbealone.”

Shedrewinabreath,tired,readytopullawayifnecessary.Shedidn’twanttohearremindersofhow

painfulthefuturewouldbe,butAndrewheldtight.

“Ifailedtomentionthemostimportantthing,”hesaid,hisvoiceroughwithemotion.
“Andwhatisthat?”sheasked,herheartsuddenlybeatingapace.
“Iloveyou.”
Herbreathfroze.Sheleanedbackandstaredupintohisface.
Andrew’sfaceboreamixofvulnerabilityandhope.Carefully,hetookherhandsinhis.“Iloveyou,

Ophelia.YouchangedmylifethemomentIseteyesuponyouwadinginthatriver.Andeverydaysince,I
havelostmyhearttoyou,piecebypiece.Yourstrength,yourkindness,yourpassionforlife,theyhaveall
awakenedwhatIhadbeensosurewasdead.Mysoul.Youhaveawakenedmysoul,Ophelia,becauseyou

aremyotherhalf.Thejoytomycynicism.Thepassiontomyjadednature.Youhavetaughtmetolive
withhopeagain.”

Shestaredupathim,barelyabletobelievewhathesaid.Shakingherheadslightly,shebreathed,

“Youloveme,truly?”

“Yes.AndnowIneedtoaskyouagain.AndI’mgoingtodoitproperly.”
Slowly,Andrewloweredhimselftooneknee,herhandsstillinhis.“Comeandbemywife.Come

livewithmefortherestofourdays.Letusfacethetrialsofthislifetogether.Becausewithoutyou,
Ophelia,Iwillcontinuetoexist,buthowcanIlivewithoutyou,myotherhalf?”

Thehallspun.Shewassostunnedbyhispowerfulproposal.Shelongedtothrowherselfintohisarms

andaccept,but...

“Andrew,marriage...ThereissomuchIwishtodo...”
Andshedidn’twishtoriskthepainoflossagain.Herfatherhaddied.Hermotherwasdying.Whatif

somethinghappenedtoAndrew?

Andrewbroughtoneofherhandstohismouthandkisseditgently.“Marriagewillonlyenableyouto

dothosethingswithmoreease.Amarriedladyandaduchess,noless,hasmuchmorefreedomthana
singleyoungwoman.Ihavenowishtostandinthewayofyourdreams.Ifanything,Iwishtohelpyou
capturethem.Allowmetohelpyoupursuethem.”

Tearsstunghereyes,foraverydifferentreasonnowthanbefore.Shecouldn’tdenythatshelovedhim

but...“Myexperiencehasmademewaryoftrustingthatallwillbewell—”

“Ophelia,Icannotpromisethatyouwillneverbehurt.I’mhumanandmakemistakes.Lifeisfullof

pain.You’llhurtme.Imayhurtyou.Itcan’tbeavoided.Nomatterwhatyoudoorwhereyougo,you
cannotescapethepainoflifewithoutabandoningitsjoysaswell.Butifwesimplythinkoftodayand
loveeachotherwithallourpassion,justfortoday,imaginehowwonderfulitcouldbe.”

Fortoday.
Justthosetwowordsseemedtochangeeverything.Shethoughtofhermother.LadyDarlingtonhad

madeitplainthatwhilefearwasacceptableandevenwise,itwastheworstofcrimesagainstoneselfto
yieldone’slifetoit.Andthat’sexactlywhatOpheliahaddonewhensherefusedAndrew.She’dchosen
fearinsteadofthemansheloved.

“Howdidyoubecomesowise?”sheasked.
“ListeningtoMama,”hesaidsimply.
Andrewsaid“Mama”withsucheasethatOpheliacouldn’thelpherself.Sheloweredherselfontohis

knee,needingtobeasclosetohimaspossible.“Shewouldbesoproudofyou.Iamstillafraid,butnot
you.”

“OfcourseI’mafraid,”hecountered.“ButIwillnotberuledbythatfear.”
Hiswordssoechoedherownthoughtsthatshecouldbarelybelievehowaliketheywere.Sheslipped

herhandsfromhisandtookhisfacebetweenherpalms.“Lifeisfartooshorttoletitcontrolus,”she
agreed.

Soshe’dtrustthatsheandAndrew’slovewouldthrivefortoday.Afterall,todaywasalltheyhad.

Hermotherwasteachingherthat.Witheverydayhermotherwasstillhere,theimportanceofnowwas
alltooclear.

OpheliagazedintoAndrew’seyes,drinkingintheloveshesawthere.“Iloveyou,too,”she

whispered.

Joylithisgazeandhetuggedhertighteragainsthim,herfullemeraldskirtsdrapingoverhisbent

knee.“Kissme?”

“Withallmyheart,”shereplied,thensheloweredhermouthtohisinasoftkiss.Akissofpromise.A

kissthatheldalltheloveofherheart.

Hemetthatkisswithsweettenderness,asifhewasansweringwithhisownvowthatlovewould

neverfailthem.

Shepulledback,herbreathingslowandherlimbsdeliciouslyheavy.Blinking,shesuddenlythought

ofhermother.“Andrew?”

“Mmm,”hemurmured,studyingherfacewithlove-drunkeyes.
“Canyouobtainaspeciallicensetoday?”
Hedrewinaquickbreath.“Isuppose,yes.”
Suddenlyseizedbyasenseofurgency,sheurged,“Thengo.Gonow.”
“Areyousure?”heasked.
Nodding,shestrokedherfingersalonghisjawinassurance.“IwantMamatobeatourwedding.”
Andrewopenedhismouthtoreply,butthenhesnappeditshut.Tearsglimmeredinhiseyes.Histhroat

workedforamoment,thenhedrewinaroughbreath.“I’llgo.”

Opheliapressedonelast,softkisstohislips,thenstood.“Hurry,please.”
Andrewsqueezedherhandinhis,thenwordlesslyturnedandstrodedownthehall,hispacefastand

fullofpurpose.

Ophelialistenedtohisfootstepsdissipate,herheartracing.Shesmiled,thenwhippedaroundandran

towardhermother’sroom.

Hermotherwouldbeoverjoyed.Oh,notbecauseoftheweddingnecessarily,thoughthatwould,no

doubt,pleaseher,butbecause,finally,itdidn’tmatterthatOpheliawasafraid.Opheliahadleapedand
Andrewhadbeentheretobreakherfallwithlove.Wonderful,miraculouslove.

Chapter22

Atlength,Ihavelearnedtolive

withoutfearofthefuture.

Isavorthemomentsathand,

foroneneverknowshowlongtheymightlast.

Ophelia’sNotebook

Andrewheldhisbrideinhisarmsandrefusedtolethergo.Itdidn’tmatterthatthevicarhadproclaimed
themmanandwife.OrthatthemanhadquicklyslippedoutofLadyDarlington’sbedroomforhis
promisedlargebrandyinthedownstairsdrawingroom.

Quitesimply,Andrewdidn’teverwanttoletOpheliago.
Ithadtakenconvincingandasizabledonation,buthe’dpersuadedthevicartomarryhimselfand

Opheliainhishome.Afterall,thecircumstanceswere,indeed,unique.Andhe’dbeendeterminedto
fulfillOphelia’swishthattheymarrywithhermotherinattendance.

Evenso,hecouldscarcebelieveithadhappened,thatshe’dagreed,thattheywereinlove.Surely,

suchstuffwasthestuffofdreams.HegazeddownintoOphelia’seyesandknew,withoutdoubt,thatthis
wasright.Andifthiswasadream,heprayedthatheneverawakened.

Shesmiledupathim,abeautifulsmile.
Howhewantedtoseethatsmileeverydayfortherestofhislife.Hewasgoingtodoeverythinghe

couldtomakethatwishareality.

ThefaintapplauseofMrs.RourkeandLadyDarlingtonpenetratedhisreverie.
Opheliadrewinadeepbreath,astrangemixtureofjoyandsadnesstouchinghersmile.Atthe

applause,sheswepthergazetohermother.

HoldingOphelia’shandinhis,he,too,turnedtoviewtheLadyDarlingtonandMrs.Rourke.
Theirmamawasproppeduponseveralpillowscoveredwithcrispwhitelinen.Herslightlyfaded

blueeyesshonebrightwithjoy,allthemorepowerfulinherwitheredface.Andshewasclappingher
hands,thoughtheybarelymadeasound.

LadyDarlingtonloweredherhands,twosurprisinglyheavyweightsgiventheirthinness,tothedown

blanketcoveringherwastedbody.“I...Knew...It,”shesaid.

Opheliacrossedtothebed,tugginghimwithher.
Hiswife,amorewonderfultermhe’dneverused,perchedontheedgeofthebed,carefulnottomove

hermother.

“Howdidyouknow?”Opheliaasked.
“Withonelookat...Him.”LadyDarlingtonglancedslowlyatAndrew.“Isaw...Hissoulandthat..

.”—shedrewinashakingbreath—“hewasyour...Match.”

“Hushnow,Mama,”Opheliasoothed.“Youmustrest.”
LadyDarlingtonshookherheadslightlyandthebrightnessinhereyesdimmedalittle.“Youlove

each...Other?”

AndrewsqueezedOphelia’shand.“Withallmyheart.”
“Yes,Mama,IloveAndrew.”
“I’msoproudofyou,mydaughter.”LadyDarlingtonlaboriouslyliftedOphelia’shandtohermouth

andkissedit.“You’vechosenlove,thebravestthingofall.”

Tremblingnowattheapparenteffort,shebarelyliftedherhandtowardAndrew.
Hesteppedforwardandtookit,tuckinghimselfbehindOphelia.
Hersmallfingersrestedinhis,trusting,birdlike.
“Andrew...Mysweetboy,”LadyDarlingtonsaid,barelyawhisper.“You’vefoundthestrengthto

believeinyourself.”Herlipscurledintothemostlovingofsmiles.“Icouldn’tbehappier.”

“Iloveyou,Mama,”Opheliasaidsuddenly,beforesheleanedforwardandpressedakisstoLady

Darlington’sforehead.

Theirmama’ssmilesoftenedintoastrange,dreamysmile.“Iloveyou,too...Sweetheart.And

Andrew,myboy...Iloveyou.”

Andrew’sthroattightenedupsohardhecouldscarcedrawbreath,buthehadtoifhewasgoingtosay

whatneededtobesaid.Itstruckhimthatthismomentwasincrediblyimportant.Slowly,hekneltbeside
Ophelia,comingeyelevelwithLadyDarlington.“Iloveyou,Mama.Thankyouforbelievinginme.”

LadyDarlington’seyesdrooped,butshemurmured,“HowcouldInot?”
LadyDarlington’sfaceseemedtovisiblygray.“Thirsty,”sherasped.
Mrs.Rourkestood,takingasmallclothfromthetablebesidethebedanddippingitinthepitcherof

water.Carefully,theolderwomanplacedtheclothatLadyDarlington’slips.

Eyeshalf-closed,LadyDarlingtonopenedhermouthandsuckedgentlyonthewetcloth.Afterseveral

moments,shegaveasmallsighofcontentmentandletgoofthefabric.Herwholebodyrelaxedagainst
thebed,hermouthstillslightlyopen.

Opheliaclaspedhermother’shandwithrenewedvigor.“Mama?”
AndrewkepthishandaroundLadyDarlington’s,afraidtomove.Afraidifhedidanythingatall,she’d

leavethem.

“Allissettlednow,”LadyDarlingtonbreathedandsheclosedhereyes.
“Mama?”OpheliasqueezedLadyDarlington’shand.
Andrew’sheartslammedinhischest,notabletobelieveit.Butwhenheslowedhisthoughts,hesaw

thatLadyDarlingtonwasstillbreathing.

“Mama?”heaskedgently,strokinghisthumboverthebackofherpaperyhand.
LadyDarlington’seyesflutteredopen.
Butthistime,whenhereyesmethis,somethingwasverydifferent.
Shewasnolongerpresent.Thevitalladyhehadknownhadslippedawayinthelastmoments.
LadyDarlingtongaveasmallsmile,nottrulylookingatanyoneoranything.“Loveyou...My

darlings.”

Asifshewastiredbeyondmeasure,hereyelidsfellatlast,andherhandrelaxedinhisgrip.
Herchestcontinuedtoriseandfallinshallowgasps.
“Mrs.Rourke?”Opheliademanded,panicliftingthetoneofhervoice.
“It’sallright,m’dear,”Mrs.Rourkeassured,standingateaseontheothersideofthebed.She

reachedoutandlovinglystrokedLadyDarlington’sforehead.“She’ssimplypassingintothenextworld.
Herspirit’sready,butherbodyisastepbehind.”

“Isshegone?”Opheliaasked,tearsslippingdownhercheeks.
“Inamannerofspeaking.Buttalktoher,”Mrs.Rourkeurged.“Iswearhersoulisintheroom,

lookingonusasshewaitstogohometoGod.”

Ophelianodded,evenasthetearstraceddownherporcelaincheeks.
Andrew’sheartached.Inoneday,therewassomuchjoyandsorrow.Hewasunsurewhattodo.

Hiswifesat,tearsfillinghereyes,asthedearestwomanintheworldtothembothfadedquickly.
Suddenly—almostasifLadyDarlingtonwhisperedinhisear,Justbehere,darlingboy.Justbehere

—heknewtherewasnothinghecoulddobutsitwithhiswifeandloveher.

***

Opheliablinkedanddrewinalongbreath.Eventhoughshe’djustbeenasleep,herwholebodyfelt
battered.Shewincedandstretchedhershouldersslightlybeforeliftingherheadfromthebed.

Mama.
Asick,fearfulanticipationseizedherinsides.Hadhermothermadeitthroughthenight?Lady

Darlington’shandwasinhers.Stillwarmandsoft.

Opheliaexhaled.Itwasunbearable,thewaiting.Shelongedforhermothertosuddenlywakeup,to

springoutofbedandrevelinLondonTown,butthatwasn’tgoingtohappen.AndOpheliadidn’twishfor
hermothertoknowanymoresuffering.

Sheuncurledherbodyandsatupbesidehermama.
Eachbreathnowcameinastrangerasp,athrottleinLadyDarlington’sthroat.
Andrewstirredinthechairbehindher,perhapsawakenedbythesound.
“Areyouwell?”heinquired,reachingoutforher.
Shesavoredthefeelofhisstronghandonhershoulder.Nodding,shecouldn’ttearhergazeaway

fromhermother.Thatfrailbodywasnowsosmall,soincrediblytiny.Opheliabitdownonherlowerlip,
willingherselftobestrong.

Mrs.Rourkesatupfromthecotthathadbeenbroughtinlastnightafterthewedding.Fullyclothed,the

ladypattedherunruly,silveredcoif.AdeepyawnstretchedherfeaturesbeforeshetookinLady
Darlington’sform.“Stillwithus,dearlady?”

TherewasnostirringtosuggestLadyDarlingtonrecognizedthewords.
Mrs.Rourkestood.“Tea,Ithink.Ishallgodownandpreparesome.Itwillbegoodforyoutwotobe

alonewithher.”

Opheliaheard,butcouldn’trespond.Everythingfeltsostrange,sounreal.
Mrs.Rourkepausedatthedoor.“Perhaps,LadyOphelia...Perhaps,youshouldtellheritisperfectly

acceptableforhertogonow.”

Withthat,theolderladysweptintothehall,leavingAndrewandOpheliawithhermotherandthe

soundofherembattledbreathing.

Tellheritwasacceptable?
Opheliawantedtorailagainsttheverynotionbut,intruth,thesuggestionstruckachordwithinher.

Hermotherneededtoknowherdaughterwouldbewellnow.

“Ophelia?”Andrewqueried.“CanI—”
Sheshookherheadbeforehecouldfinish.Sheneededtodothis.Noonecoulddoitforher.Shedrew

inalongbreath.

“Mama,”shesaidfirmly.“Mama,doyouhearme?”
Shewaitedamoment,buthermotherremainedunmoving,hermouthopenslightly,herbreatharough

rattle.

“Mama,”shesaidgentlybutwithpurpose,“youmayleaveusnow.Andrewiswithme.Iknowyou

knowhowmuchweloveeachother,butitistime.Ifyou’rewaitingformypermissiontogo...”Ophelia
swallowed.“Youhaveit.Beatpeace,Mama.”

Shestudiedhermother’sfaceforanychange.
Thatbone-chillingbreaththatshookthenpaused,shookagainandcontinued.
Opheliaclosedhereyes.Shedidn’tknowwhatshethoughtwouldhappen.

“Tellmesomethingabouther,”Andrewsaidoverthesoundofhermama’slaboriousbreaths.
Opheliakeptherhandaroundhermother’s.Sheglancedoverhershoulderatherhusband.Husband.It

wassuchaforeignbutdelightfulword,evenintheircircumstances.“Mymotherandfatherlovedeach
otherverymuch,youknow.TheymetwalkinginCornwall.Didshetellyou?”

Andrewshookhishead.“Goon.Iliketohearabouther.”
Opheliathoughtbacktothestoryshe’dheardtimeandagain.“Well,Mamawentforaverylongwalk

intherainandsheslippedalongthecliffs.Shenearlyplungedtoherdeath,butapparentlycaughtholdof
atreebranch.Ifyoucanbelievethetale,myfatherjusthappenedtoridebyatthetimeand,ofcourse,like
aknightofold,herescuedher.”

Andrewlaughedsoftly.“Howterriblyromantic.”
“Yes,”Opheliaagreed,asmilepullingatherlips.“Theywere.Heaskedhertomarryhiminlessthan

afortnight.Andtheywerehappy.Everyyeartheywentbacktothatspottoaffirmtheirloveforeach
other.Atreebranchhangingoverthecliffslookingouttothesea.Canyouimagine?”

“KnowingMama,yes,”Andrewsaidruefully.
“Papaisburiedthere,”Opheliasaidsuddenly.They’dgonetovisithisgravelastyear.Shehadn’t

thoughtaboutitinmonths,preoccupiedwithhermother’sillness.Butitwasnowclearhowperfectthat
was.“Hechosetobeinthespottheymet,foreternity.”

Ophelialookedbacktohermama,amazedatherparents’love.
Thesilencehither.
Opheliastaredathermother’squietbody.“Mama?”shecalled.
Nobreaththistime.Nothing.Juststillpeace.
Ophelia’sbreathfrozeinherbreast.
“She’sgone,mylove,”Andrewsaidquietly,reverently.“She’sgone.”
Opheliasatsilently,holdinghermother’shand,hereyesburningwiththetruthofit.Hottearsslid

downhercheeks,matchedwithashudderingsob.

“Goodbye,Mama,”shemanagedthroughhertears,eachwordbroken.
Afteramoment,hertearsslowedandsheleanedforward.Sherestedherheadagainsthermother’s

now-quietchest,savoringthefeelofthatsafeharboronelasttime.

Thedooropened.ThesoundofMrs.RourkebustlinginvaguelypenetratedOphelia’sgrief.
Andrewwhisperedtotheotherwoman.
Opheliasatupslowlyandwipedahandoverhercheeks.“She’satpeace.Iknowit.”
AndrewcircledhisarmsaroundOphelia’sshouldersandkissedhergently.“Yes.Withoutadoubt.”
Still,itwasn’tenough.Therehadtobesomethingmore.Surely.
Opheliaglancedtoherweddingbouquet.Thedaffodilssathappilyinthedimlightandsheknew

exactlywhattodo.Opheliastood,pickedonesingledaffodilandtuckeditinhermother’shands.

Justatthatmoment,thesunspilledinthroughtheheavycurtains,bathinghermotherinasoftrayof

yellow.Thedaffodiljustbelowherfacegaveherastrange,peacefulglow.

Asign.Ithadtobe.Afinalfarewelloflovefromhermother.
Opheliawasabletotakeastepback.Hermotherhadfoundherrest.Andlikethedaffodilinher

hands,LadyDarlingtonhadfoundjoyinanewandunexploredseason.

Epilogue

Endingsaremerelybeginnings.

Ophelia’sNotebook

OneYearLater

Abriskseabreezesweptinoffthewateranddancedalongtheedgeofthecliff.ItteasedOphelia’s

hair,whippingitplayfullyaboutherface.Shedrewinarefreshingbreathandsavoredthesaltytang
invigoratinghersenses.Itwasaperfectday.Thelate-summersunburnedbrightyellowagainsttheazure
sky,andtheclarityofthedaylitupthefieldsaboutthem,leavingthethickgrassabrilliantemerald.

Sheep,whiteballsoffluff,dottedthecliff’sside,happilyeatingthegrass,oblivioustothecaresof

theworld.

Andtherewasnooneandnothingformilesexcepttheroaroftheoceancrashingagainsttherocks

belowandAndrewstandingbesideher.Hispresencehadcometobeheronetruestarinthewildmonths
thathadfollowedhermother’sdeath.ButliketheNorthStarthatguidedsomany,hehadbroughtherback
toherselfandguidedherthroughthedarkness.

Theshadowshadatlastpartedtoleavethembothstandingingloriouslight.
Justtoherright,anoak,solitaryandtwistedbytimeandtheelements,stoodmajesticallyunderthe

onslaughtofthewind.Underneaththosesprawlingbranches,madelushbysummer’sgreenleaves,wasa
smallstone.

Andrewtookherhandandledherthelastfewstepsoftheirwalktothemarker.
There,beneaththetreewheretheymet,layhermamaandpapa.Insimpleletters,thestonesaid:

Hereliesamanandawoman.

Lovewastheirguideandtheyknewjoy.

Letloveguideyou.

Itwentagainsteverytradition,thissimpleburialofalordandlady.Butithadbeenwhatherfather

hadwished.Anduponhiswife’sdeath,hiswishhadbeenfulfilledwhenshejoinedhimbeneaththetree.

Ophelia’sheartsangwithastrange,achinghappiness.Shemissedhermother.Shemissedhermother

everyday,asshedidherfather.Butintruth,theyhadneverlefther.Whileherparentswereoffexploring
whateverwastocomeafterthepartingoftheveil,Opheliacouldfeelthemalmosteveryday.

Andshecouldn’thavefelthermothermorethanthismorning,theanniversaryofherparents’meeting.

Andsomethingelse.Somethingjustasspecial.

Opheliaplacedherhandonhermiddleandsmileddownonherparents.Somehow,shewascertainit

washermother’sdoing.

“Andrew,”Opheliaventured,herheartbeatingwildlywithexcitement.
Heliftedherglovedhandinhisandkissedit.“Yes,mylove?”
Suddenly,herinsidesflutteredwithnerves.Soontheywouldflutterwithsomethingelse.Thinkingof

hermother,shetookhercourageinhand.“We’regoingtobeafamily.”

Andrew’sbrowsdrewtogether,confused.“Wealreadyarea...”

Aslowdawningcameoverhisface.Hegapedforamoment,realizationsinkingin.Forseveral

momentsheseemedincapableofspeech.Andthenhelaughed.Asoundofpuredelight.“You’rewith
child?”

Shenodded.
Andrewseizedherinhisarmsandwhirledheraround.Herskirtsbelledoutandtheworldspun

joyously.Carefully,heplacedherfeetbackontheground.

Heheldherashemightadelicatechinavase.“Doforgiveme.Youmustbecareful.Youmusttake

careofyourself.Youmust...”

Ophelialiftedherfingertohislips.“Wemustlove.Andthatisall.Afterall,loveisthemost

importantthing.”

Andrewbeameddownather,liftingahandtocuphercheek.Hetiltedherheadback,gazingadoringly

intohereyes.“Yes,yes,itis.”

Holdingontoherhusband,Ophelialookedtowherehermotherandfatherwereatpeace.Asmileon

herlips,sheturnedbacktoherhusbandandbroughthislipsdowntohers,savoringhiskiss.

Lovewasthemostspecialthingbecauseitneverwentaway.Evennow,allshecouldfeelwaslove.

Andlovewaswhatshewouldalwaysfeel.Ofthat,shehadnodoubt.

TheEnd

DidyoumissIntheDevil’sBedBook1intheSinsoftheDukeseries?

Here’sasnippet!

Prologue
Whereisthebloodymedic?
Jacksuckedintheacridstenchoffiredmusketpowder.Disbeliefwarredinhischest.Bloodpooled

andsprawledinwindingrivuletsoverhisshakingfingers,spillingontothedryearthofBalaklava.He
thrusthishandsdownharderoverthewide-openwoundoozingonhisfriend’schest.

Intenyears,they’dneverfoughtabattlewithouteachother.Onoroffthefield.Hell,theywere

extensionsofeachother.JackcouldactuallyfeelDevlin’sheartslowingbeneathhishands.

Theirbattalionchargedaroundthem,kickingupdirtontoDev’spronebody,settlingonhisbrownhair

andtannedskin.TheglintofaRussianstandardinthesmokeofthecannonfirecaughthiseye.Bloody
hell,buttheenemywasclose.

JackleanedoverDevandblockedhimasmuchashecouldfromthebattlewithhisshoulders.He

stareddownintohisfriend’sface.“Whythe‘elldidyoustepintothatbullet?”

Devlinblinkedhisblueeyes.Painstreakedhispupils,turningthemintopinpricksofblack.Hislips

curledintoagrimaceofasmile.“You’reasissy-assbastard,Jack.You’dhavedropped—likeafly.”

Devlindrewinaraggedbreath,hisfaceslowlyturningghostlywhite.
Thiscouldnotbehappening.They’dsurvivedeverythingtogether.Everything.
Jack’shandsslidoverthewet,torncottonofDev’sshirt.“Oh,andyoustoodlikeanironpost,isthat

it?”

Thesoldiersaroundthemyelledatthetopoftheirlungs,brandishingbayonets,thespeartipsshining

inthesmoke-tingedsun.Thousandsofbootedfeetslammedintotheearth,sendingvibrationsupthrough
Jack’sknees.Inmoments,heandDevwouldbeinthemiddleofhandtohandcombat.

ThesmilefadedfromDev’sface.“Jack,Ican’tfeeltheleadball.It’snotbad,isit?”
Jackopenedhismouthandchokedontheanswer.Ifhesaidit,itwouldbetrue.Hishandsshonedull

redandDev’sblackenedjacketandshirtstucktohisbody,soaked.Theskinaroundtheangrywound
shiftedunderthepressureoftheflowingblood.

“’Tisnothing,’”raspedJack.
Devlin’seyesclosedforabriefmoment.Themusclesofhisthroatworkedasheswallowed.“Liar.”

Jack’schestclenchedinatightvise.“Youcan’tleavemeherealone.Icannotcarryoutourplans

withoutyou.”

Devslowlyliftedhisbloodied,dirt-riddenhandtoJack’swrists.“Oi’m...damnwell...notdying.”
Jackgrowledatthestupidityofhisfriend’swords.AtrickleofbloodwasslippingfromDev’smouth

downhischeek.Hehadonlymoments.“Youbastard,youcan’tleaveme.We’veneverbeenapart—Not
since—“

“Theduke—,”grittedDev.“Thehome—ButJack—I’mnotleavingyou.”Devlinsuckedinabreath,

alowrattleshakinghisribcage.“We’llgobacktoLondon.Andwe’ll...“

ThewordsdiedonDevlin’slips.Hisbodytightened,then,inasinglemoment,relaxedintoseeming

sleep.Thelightdimmedfromhisblueeyesandhisjawrelaxed,leavinghismouthopen.

“DestroytheChancefamily,”finishedJack.Dev’sfingersslidoffhiswrists.Jackpressedhishands

harderagainstthewound.

“No!”Hecouldstopit.HecouldbringDevback.
BloodfloodedoverJack’sforearms.Dev’sheartbeatstillpulsedouttheblood.Andthenstopped.A

growlrippedfromJack’sthroatasheslammedhishandsdownagainstthetornfleshandstareddowninto
thefaceofhisonlyfriend.Likeavacantmask,Dev’seyeslookedupintotheair,asheenofdustcovering
them.

“Nothere!”EachwordgratedfromJack’sthroat.HiseyesburnedasDev’sfaceblurredbeforehim.
Jackfeltnothingexceptasolidhumofangerandpowerthrummingthroughhisveins.
Getup,avoiceurgedinsidehim.
Jackwincedandblinked.HishandsslidfromDev’schestandfelltohissides.Jackplantedtheminto

theground.

Getup,thevoicecommanded.
Itpoundedinsidehishead,fillinghisbodywithrage.Jackshovedhimselftohisfeet.Helooked

downatwhatwasleftofhisfriend.

Revenge,growledthedeepvoice.
MetalclashingonmetaljerkedJack’sattentionawayfromDevlin’sbody.Mensurgedaroundhimina

violentdance.Killingeachother.

Purehatredboiledinsideofhim.Andforthefirsttime,Jackwantedblood.Heneededtotakelifeand

allowhimselftobecrazedwithrevenge.

HelockedeyeswithaRussiansoldier.Theyoungman’sblueandwhitecoatflashedinthesunashe

rantowardsJack.Jackgrabbedthecool,woodbarrelofhispistolandyankeditfromhisbelt.Heaimed
atthewhitespacebetweentheman’sbrowneyes,caressedthetrigger,andfired.

TheRussianman’sbodyjerkedbackandstoppedmid-run.Surpriseflashedacrosstheyoungman’s

facebeforehetumbledtotheearth.Jackthrusthispistolintohiswaistbandanddrewhisswordfromits
sheath.

HewouldkilleverydamnedenemyonthisfieldinDev’sname.Everyoneofthem.Jackranintothe

wildseaofbattlingmenandthrusthisswordintothenearestRussiancoat.Thebladesankintotheman’s
flesh.TheRussiansoldierscreamed.Jackkickedthemaninthebackwithhisbootedfoot,yankinghis
swordfree.Thesoundofsteelsuckingfromfleshfilledtheair.

Blowingoutajaggedbreath,Jackturnedhisgazeonthemenbeforehim,seekinghisnexttarget.
HewoulddoeverythingtoavengeDevlinandhisownlife.Andiftheragegrowinginsidehimwould

help...He’dwelcomeitin.Withoutregret.

Document Outline

Title Page
Copyright Page
In the Duke's Bed (Sins of the Duke, #3)
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
Epilogue

Wyszukiwarka

Podobne podstrony:
A?ndle in the?rk is the title of a courageous
The History of the USA 6 Importand Document in the Hisory of the USA (unit 8)
There are a lot of popular culture references in the show
Civil Society and Political Theory in the Work of Luhmann
Summaries of the Four Arab Israeli Conflicts in the th?n
Sinners in the Hands of an Angry GodSummary
Glass Menagerie, The The Theme of Escape in the Play
Gender and Racial Ethnic Differences in the Affirmative Action Attitudes of U S College(1)
Capability of high pressure cooling in the turning of surface hardened piston rods
Antigone Analysis of Greek Ideals in the Play
Low Temperature Differential Stirling Engines(Lots Of Good References In The End)Bushendorf
In the Flesh The Cultural Politics of Body Modification
Formation of heartwood substances in the stemwood of Robinia
Metaphor in the Mind The Cognition of metaphor
54 767 780 Numerical Models and Their Validity in the Prediction of Heat Checking in Die
[Mises org]Raico,Ralph The Place of Religion In The Liberal Philosophy of Constant, Toqueville,
No Man's land Gender bias and social constructivism in the diagnosis of borderline personality disor

więcej podobnych podstron

In the Dukes Bed Sins of the Duke 3 Eva Devon

Document Outline