Page 88 of Atone, Adonis

She held his gaze while she came apart beneath him. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The noise she made then, a gasping, guttural cry, pushed him right to the edge. The lightning bolt of his own desire coiled in his lower back and then arced out of him until he was gasping and panting, too. All he could see or hear or think was, Jules. My wife. And then he tumbled right over the cliffside and felt only exquisite pleasure all the way down.

The next morning when he opened his eyes he thought for a moment the day before must have been a dream. But then he felt Julianna’s warm body pressed up against his and he knew it wasn’t. She was here, with him, now. And she’d agreed to marry him again.

He couldn’t help but take his fingers and gently caress them down her arm at the thought. She woke up, her smile sleepy and wonderful.

“Good morning,” she whispered. “I’m starving.”

And Fred thought he’d never, ever been happier.

A SEASON THAWS: HAWTHORNE HALL DANCES FOR THE DESERVING

The Poisoned Quill-June 15th, 1860

Printed on Cheap Paper for the Dearly Interested

Dearest Readers,

Now that the heaps and piles of unseasonable snow have at last retreated from Dorsetshire’s roads, we at The Poisoned Quill are delighted to report the thaw extends to our dreadfully postponed social season as well.

Hawthorne Hall shall soon be ablaze with light and music once more, its doors flung wide for a charitable evening under the gracious patronage of its Lord and Lady. The long-promised ball in aid of soldiers and families affected by the late Crimean War is, at last, drawing near.

And we have learned that there will be another Lord and Lady in attendance that evening. It is rumored that none other than the Local Adonis and his Ice Bride will present themselves beneath Hawthorne’s glittering lights.

One supposes they could hardly absent themselves, given that the Countess’s own brother was laid low by an unfortunate illness contracted during his time in the Crimea. Or is this yet another instance of the public image before the private good? Is the Ice Bride even colder than we imagined? Will she drag her poor brother to the affair, putting his life at risk, just to warm our hearts for her?

Or will he remain behind, fortified by yet more bone broth, blankets, and duty, while his callous sister toasts his suffering beneath the chandeliers?

One can only hope the weather holds during her performance. Dorsetshire remembers all too well the last occasion on which Lord Chester ventured forth to Hawthorne Hall in foul conditions. It would be most unfortunate for history to show an inclination toward repetition, unless the Ice Bride is counting on the weather to remove yet more familial obstacles from her path.

Ever Yours in Disgust & Delighted Curiosity,

E. S. Mallory

Editor-at-Large, The Poisoned Quill

Julianna sat frozen in the public rooms of the Torquay Inn, where she and Fred had eventually made it down to breakfast. Her hands shook as she read the blasted scandal rag. Fred slid into the chair next to her and gently plucked it from her hands.

“Best not to read it, Jules.”

“Probably.” She took a sip of her coffee instead. “I just don’t understand why they keep at us in this way. I don’t suppose anything came of the false letters you sent?”

“As a matter of fact, Clara Clarke was the culprit in our household. She has been let go, of course.”

Julianna thought back to every encounter she’d had with the chef and nodded. “Yes, that does track. That woman never did like you. Did she tell you the name of the editor?”

“She did not. Claimed not to know who the editor was, but I do have an idea. I believe it’s the Baroness Van Austerleigh behind this business. They are cousins and she admitted sending the Baroness a copy of my letters.”

Julianna nodded again, more slowly this time. The Baroness seemed an obvious villain, of course. She recalled their meeting in Rotten Row, and her words, that boy, at the modiste’s. But there had been other signs, too. Thomas had said a few things here and there about the Baroness over the years, always cutting and angry when the woman’s name was brought up in conversation. She saw that now as his defense of his friend, whether Tom wanted to admit it or not. And the way The Quill had skimmed over the rumors that Fred had been with a lady companion the evening of the accident. The whole of Dorsetshire had heard that rumor and yet the paper had never printed it.

“Fred,” she said, lowering her voice so they could not be overheard. “I believe you are correct.” She gripped his hand, thinking through her words very carefully. “She has done you so much harm, my love. I—I hardly know what to say.”

“Yes.” He kept holding her hand. “She did.”

Julianna nodded once, taking another sip of her coffee. And then she said, “I’d like to burn that woman down to the ground.”

Fred smiled then, so radiantly the serving girl nearly tripped over her feet. “Likewise. And I’ve got an idea how to go about it.”

Chapter