Page 16 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)

Theresa Berkley might be long dead, but her genius lived on.

Heat exploded in Briar’s stomach at the thought of the infamous Berkley Horse that she’d meticulously researched and reinvented.

The last volume of Lady Ivy’s adventures had been a runaway success with readers already clamoring for the next installment.

She’d already received a slew of fervent letters from her printer and bookseller, Theophilus Judge, with promises of more printed copies and higher profit shares. He owned C. Brown, a smaller publisher of subversive literature.

At first, her agreement with Theo had only been for printing.

But when the initial fifty copies flew off the press like hotcakes, he proposed a new agreement.

Theo was young, barely twenty-eight, to her own twenty-one.

He was the only one who knew that she was a woman—though she kept her face hidden—and as long as they were in the business of making money, he would not jeopardize a solid source of income.

She’d asked Theo once why he published such literature, including hers, that could send him to prison for obscenity, and he’d responded that happiness was rare enough. Who was he to judge what a person could read? As long as it wasn’t hurting anyone, it was none of his business.

The reasoning had stuck with her.

In a time when morality and virtue overshadowed everything, writing her stories, prurient as they were, was liberating.

Since women’s bodies were treated like property, there was little thought given to their needs, especially sexual ones.

But women were not receptacles—they were active participants.

Partners . Everyone should be able to find joy in their own bodies without being shamed for it.

When and why had pleasure become a crime of immorality?

Briar scowled. As Mary Wollstonecraft had written three-quarters of a century ago, women were not a fanciful kind of half being, nor were they useless members of society—they should be educated and given the same rights as men.

Women deserved autonomy over their own bodies and their own minds.

They deserved the right to vote. It was no surprise that her suffrage interests intersected with her erotic works.

Political change went hand-in-hand with sexual freedom.

“Briar, darling, are you at home to callers?”

She grinned when Laila and Effie crowded her study.

“Oh, are you writing a new volume?” Effie practically screeched and fanned herself, proceeding to collapse into an armchair.

“The last was simply delectable . Honestly, I’m not even into being birched, and I asked Vale to find some, post haste.

Your writing makes me want to ask for all the things without an ounce of shame! ”

“That’s the goal,” Briar said, peering at Laila who was scarlet with mortification and hiding her face.

“Not to your liking, then, Laila? I admit caning is not for everyone. I was intrigued by the idea of pleasure and pain, after hearing about it from one of the ladies at Lethe, and I fell down a rabbit hole that was rather illuminating.”

“No, on the contrary, I was fascinated,” Laila squeaked, going redder. “Turns out, I enjoy it. Though…with his h…hand, not a switch. ”

Effie’s eyes went wide. “Laila, you naughty little minx! Tell us more.”

Looking as though she was about to burst, Laila bit her lip. “Truly, it was life altering. I haven’t experienced such a powerful orgasm ever.”

“Did Marsden provide the appropriate care afterward?” Briar asked. “These things can be very intense, so the circle has to be closed, so to speak.”

“He did,” she said. “I loved how well you explained that. I must admit, it fostered a deeper connection between us that I never expected.” She cleared her throat and pressed her knuckles to her hot cheeks.

“I know that you and Effie are far more adventurous than I am, but well, thank you for expressing it in such a beautiful and thoughtful way, especially for a novice.”

“You’re welcome,” Briar said, flushing with pleasure at the quiet praise.

Her books might be viewed as salacious, but stories were complex.

For one reader, her books could be an escape, and for another, they could be instructive or inspirational.

Stories were doorways—where they took a person was entirely up to them.

“She’s right!” Effie agreed. “Your ability to make the profane so remarkably poetic is unrivaled.”

“Thank you, Effie,” Briar said. “Though my muse seems to have disappeared.”

“Is it because you’re a taken woman?” Effie teased, and Briar shot Laila an accusing glare.

“Don’t look at me!” Laila said, throwing her palms up. “The newspapers and the gossip rags were already agog with speculation. And after last night’s ball when you danced five times with Lushing, your fate was sealed. Everyone either expects it or claims your engagement has already happened.”

“So, are you truly engaged?” Effie asked.

Briar nodded and pinned her lips, hating the fact that she had to lie to her best friends.

Then again, Effie hadn’t been forthcoming with her lessons in sensual pleasure with her duke, and Nève hadn’t told anyone about her paid contract with Montcroix.

Vesper probably had more skeletons than all of them put together hidden in the cupboard.

Only Laila seemed to be exempt, and that was probably because she was the best secret-keeper of them all. The woman was a vault.

Effie’s brows lifted. “And you’re certain that Lushing is the one? Everyone knows I adore the gingery rapscallion, but it’s Lushing . Put the two of you in a room, and it’s anyone’s best bet who comes out alive. My money is on you, of course.”

Briar was getting tired of the way everyone said his name, as though he were some kind of wretched anomaly. “Yes, I’ve heard it all from Laila, don’t worry,” she replied. “Look, I know what everyone thinks. But we’ve become…friends.”

“You hesitated! Say that to my face!” Effie shot back.

Briar peered into Effie’s ice-blue eyes, making hers comically round for emphasis. “The Earl of Lushing and I are friends. Happy now?” She sighed. “Bloody hell, why is that so hard to believe?”

“I don’t know, Briar, maybe the years and years of bickering and backbiting. Maybe wondering which one of you was going to do away with the other first. Maybe because you’ve been enemies for practically forever .”

“It’s a prologue,” Laila said, and both women stared nonplussed at her. She shrugged. “One leading to a buildup of, in plain terms, lust. Enemies who become lovers!”

“No one is becoming anything, and I am not lusting after the man,” Briar protested and then shoved Effie away, who was attempting once more to peer into her soul to gauge her sincerity.

Her ears felt absurdly hot, and she was worried her face would follow.

“This shall be a marriage of convenience, nothing more. Like many others in the aristocracy.”

“Lushing does nothing out of convenience,” Effie quipped.

“He’s quite easy on the eyes, you have to admit that.

” She grinned wickedly, waggling her pale blond brows.

“In fact, the hero in Volume Two of Lady Ivy’s grand adventures, the dashing young painter who painted her nude portrait, seemed to have an uncanny resemblance to a certain gent, if I reca?—”

A cushion to the face had her words ending abruptly. Hair askew, Effie gaped in outrage. “I’ve at least three cushions here,” Briar warned, holding a second aloft. “The painter’s hair was reddish brown . His eyes were bluish green .”

Effie opened her mouth to argue and closed it as Briar hefted a cushion in preparation, but it was Laila who intervened by deftly changing the subject. “I am curious as to why you believe your muse has deserted you?”

Briar couldn’t very well say a blue-eyed, redheaded gentleman now .

“I suppose I’m being pulled in two directions.

Katherine, er, Viscountess Amberley has asked me to draft a new petition for the next suffragist meeting.

Her focus is elsewhere because her husband is addressing the London Dialectical Society on voluntary reproductive control, which as you can imagine is deeply controversial.

Because why should women possibly want to safeguard their own wombs and bodies?

” She didn’t curb her sarcasm as her friends huffed in unison.

“I need to convey how important suffrage is to our members.”

Both women immediately grew serious. “How can we help?”

The little harpy was marauding the streets again.

Though this time she wasn’t looking for men mistreating women in Seven Dials.

Jasper had followed her to Whitechapel in East London.

He strode over to where the loyal Olsen was waiting with her unmarked carriage some distance away.

Jasper sent the man a quick signal that he would take over and watched when the coachman tipped his hat and took his leave.

Like other times, he knew that Jasper would see Briar safely home.

Jasper narrowed his gaze on the meeting that was occurring inside the tavern through the cloudy windows.

It appeared to be a meeting of the suffragists, if only from recognizing Lady Amberley and Millicent Fawcett, who were part of the executive committee of the London National Society for Women’s Suffrage.

Pulling his cloak hood low, he entered through the back of the tavern and found a darkened corner, out of sight of the main room.

His view was partially obscured by the wide slats in the half wall, but he could hear the discussion clearly.

The women spoke in low voices as the tavern was not closed for business, but it was out of the way enough to not draw the wrong kind of attention .