Inthe

Duke's

Bed

by

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

TableofContents

TitlePage
CopyrightPage
IntheDuke'sBed(SinsoftheDuke,#3)
Chapter1
Chapter2
Chapter3
Chapter4
Chapter5
Chapter6
Chapter7
Chapter8
Chapter9
Chapter10
Chapter11
Chapter12
Chapter13
Chapter14
Chapter15
Chapter16
Chapter17
Chapter18
Chapter19
Chapter20
Chapter21
Chapter22
Epilogue

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.