Page 19 of Only Earl in the World (Taming of the Dukes)

Her friend’s throat worked as everyone quieted. “Aspen and I haven’t had done much of anything in a while. I worry things will never return to the way they were. Audra is thriving now, and he’s been so patient with me. I fear he’ll leave me.” A lone tear tracked down her face. “I can’t lose him.”

“Greydon loves you, Vesper,” Laila interjected softly. “He’s not going anywhere. As a mother myself, it took a while for intimacy to resume with us after our son, but it will. You must allow your body and your mind some grace. You went through an ordeal.”

“Can you go somewhere alone for a few days?” Effie suggested. “Audra has a nurse, no? You’ve been weaning her off the breast?”

“Yes,” Vesper whispered. “But I’m not sure I should leave. Doesn’t that make me a terrible mother, if I do?”

“You can’t look after anyone else if you don’t look after yourself, Vesper,” Nève said firmly. “Lysander and I had to take some time to reconnect after Philippe’s birth. It doesn’t make you a bad parent, it makes you a healthier wife and mother.”

“They’re right,” Briar said. “A short holiday might help. Why don’t you take a few days and go to Bath? There’s no one at our house there and we’re very close to the water. Think of all the statues you and Greydon can desecrate in my poor garden.”

A watery smile broke over Vesper’s face, though she still seemed unsure.

“I can look after Audra for you,” Laila volunteered.

“And Briar can supply all the lewd reading materials to get you and your bone-master in the mood.” Vesper’s eyes widened as she stifled a giggle.

It was no secret that the Duke of Greydon was an avid paleontologist, which had led to a whole host of humorous and very bawdy puns.

“I can attest that congress in the water is…highly underrated,” Laila added with a small cough.

“Truly?” Effie exclaimed, pale blue eyes rounding. “In the ocean ?”

Laila blushed. “Think of it as just a bigger bath…with people around as well as being wildly creative with swimming costumes.”

“You little deviant,” Effie said as Briar wrote furiously in her notebook.

“Let’s not mock each other’s preferences or fetishes, Effie dear,” Laila shot back with a saccharine look, wiggling her eyebrows. “People in glass houses should not throw stones…or dildos.”

After a protracted moment, everyone broke into raucous cackles, so much so that the servant bringing in a fresh pot of tea turned instantly on her heel and disappeared. The poor maids and footmen had been scandalized enough over the years.

“She has you there, Effie,” Nève said, gasping for breath.

“Dildos are a person’s best friends,” Effie said sagely. “And don’t knock self-pleasure—have you seen some of the new designs? Some of them have channels and springs for hot oil or milk. Of all the things, that has to be the most curious.”

“Truly fascinating,” Nève put in. “The French are absurdly ingenious, especially when it comes to sexual contraptions mimicking the real thing.”

Unlike her friends, who were all married and clearly living enviable and satisfied personal lives, Briar was still a virgin.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t interested or saving herself for marriage—if a man could sow his wild oats, then why shouldn’t a woman be able to do the same?

She simply had never found anyone she could trust with herself—and her very peculiar intimate fantasies.

Books and her stories had become a safe space where she could discover and see herself on the page.

At first, she’d started reading them, and then she’d begun crafting them.

Living vicariously and boldly through the dauntless Lady Ivy, who wasn’t afraid to admit she loved bondage, power reversals, or being degraded and praised, was the best option for her. Especially if she eventually married someone like the viscount.

Divulging those appetites in real life required a deep amount of trust with one’s partner, and without a doubt, Preston would sooner lock her up in a lunatic asylum for hysteria than praise her prowess in the bedroom. The man did not have a passionate bone in his body.

She reminded herself that she only needed him for the use of his name. She had Lady Ivy, and that was good enough for her.

“All of this, including perhaps a visit to the French seaside and experimentation with pleasure toys, is gold,” Briar said, her pencil scribbling on the paper as she jotted down a few more ideas. “I swear Lady Ivy is an amalgamation of all of us.”

Nève cleared her throat, pursing her lips and glancing around. “If that’s the case, which one of us is the one who loves being made to crawl and called a good girl?”

“Uh…” There was no judgment in the amused inquiry, but Briar’s face exploded as though it was on literal fire. Thankfully, given the conversation, everyone was flushed. She forced herself to give a casual shrug, keeping her expression as neutral as possible. “Minthe.”

“ Minthe ,” Effie bit out ferociously. She’d always thought that Minthe had had a secret infatuation with her husband before the two of them had declared their feelings for each other.

Vale, of course, only had eyes for Effie, but the beautiful bookkeeper remained a sore spot for her.

Vulnerability was a devil of a thing. “Honestly, how can you not worry that Lushing is working with her all day, Briar? She’s terribly flirtatious. ”

“Minthe is more interested in me than him,” she replied with a laugh.

“And the only person my brother esteems is himself,” Vesper said and then winked, her good humor back again. “Unless it’s Briar, of course. Let it be said that I predict a wedding date between the prickliest pair in London by the end of the season. Shall we toast for good luck? To the last bride!”

“The last bride!” the rest cheered, lifting their teacups and making Briar scowl.

She did not want to think about marrying the Earl of Lushing…or what being his wife would entail. No, their collaboration would remain amicable and platonic. Chaste.

Nothing about that kiss was chaste.

Her brain was much too preoccupied with the delicious taste of him, the divine scent of him, and the rough sound of his groans when he kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough. Her core gave an indelicate ripple that almost made her lose her breath.

No, no, no. That was a very slippery slope, and one she had to avoid at all costs.

“Fine,” she shouted over the noise. “But my wedding will be to Viscount Sackley , not Lord Lushing. That is the whole point of the endeavor. Calm yourselves!”

“Boooooo!” The chorus was enthusiastic and loud enough for Briar to clap her hands over her ears as they all dissolved into another round of boisterous laughter, causing the servants to peek out at the ensuing chaos.

Then again, some kind of chaos was naturally expected when they were all together. Briar couldn’t help smiling at her rowdy, brilliant, and faithful friends. They would always be there, through thick and thin.

Hellfire Kitties forever.

Jasper tugged at his cuffs and straightened his cravat while he was waiting for Briar to arrive at the Duke and Duchess of Montcroix’s residence for the most anticipated mid-season ball.

Earlier that afternoon, she had been meeting with her brother Levi.

Another letter had arrived, this one much darker in nature, and they had immediately contacted the Metropolitan Police.

One note was concerning, a second made it a possible pattern.

And this one had been worse than the first: You stray from the path with corrupt passions, but don’t fear, little dove, you are mine to save. Soon.

Briar still had no idea who it could be, but the threat was obvious.

Jasper had been disinclined to go to the ball, but she had insisted on attending, certain that this particular ball would be pivotal in their combined efforts.

She wasn’t wrong. Their performance was almost ending.

Penelope had already called at his residence, asking for an audience. Jasper had refused.

The truth was, he wasn’t ready for their fake engagement to end just yet.

He couldn’t wait to have Briar on his arm, even if it was for one last time.

He wasn’t quite sure when the pleasure had switched to the delight of being in her presence instead of seeing the reactions of their former partners.

He and Briar had been at odds for so long that conspiring together against the world felt oddly exhilarating.

It felt right in a way that could not be explained.

Even at Lethe, they were a cohesive pair.

Whether that was a result of their increased proximity, he didn’t know, but the club had never been better.

Her brilliant ideas of hiring a French chef and purchasing the rest of the building to include a library and several apartments had doubled the profit of the club and more than paid for the initial outlay of funds.

As a partner in business, he could not have been more fortunate.

She was canny, forward-thinking, and shrewd with money. Sharper than most men, including him .

“My lord, don’t you look dashing!” Her voice curled around him just before her sultry night-blooming jasmine scent did.

He jerked and stared, jaw going slack. Powder blue wasn’t a color one would call seductive; at best, it looked nice.

It wasn’t a bold hue like the crimson she’d worn to the opera.

But Briar— Christ —she looked like a vision of innocence wrapped in pure sin.

It was the Grecian style that left one bronze shoulder tantalizingly visible, combined with the delicate color of the fabric. The contradiction left him breathless.