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A fter hours of lying in her bed thinking about a man she had no business thinking about, Thea gave up and went to the drawing room to write. She might as well put a sleepless night to good use. She could make up some of the time she’d lost.

Sitting at her desk with quill in hand, however, she found the words wouldn’t come. Or rather the words for The Case of the Golden Feather wouldn’t come. Instead, other words came in their place. A different story altogether.

Rather than force the words she needed—something that never seemed to work—she gave her muse its reins and pulled out a new sheet of paper. She began writing from a woman’s perspective. A woman who was tempted out to the gardens by a handsome man she had an attraction to. Thea’s hand picked up speed as she wrote of their witty banter and flirtations.

She told of stolen touches and heated glances. The need the woman felt to feel his kiss on her lips. Except Thea didn’t know what that would feel like, only the desire to feel it.

Moving on, she focused on the things she did know. Things she’d learned that evening. The way it had felt to feel the heat of his breath on her neck when he’d laughed. The thrill of sharing a secret jest with Shay. The way they’d laughed together. The way it had felt to tuck her cool fingers against his warm arm as they walked this evening.

The couple on the page had laced their fingers together, bare palms touching. It was as if their gloves had dissolved into thin air. Something she was cautious of doing in her actual writing, but it seemed right in this tale which had grown almost mystical in nature as the words piled up on the page.

The coolness of the evening shifted seamlessly into the warmth she’d remembered of a ballroom. The man pulled the woman closer as they waltzed in a room that transformed before them. At one time it was filled with onlookers and then suddenly it was just the two of them alone in the soft, hazy, light of the chandeliers above them. And then the light dimmed to an open sky on a starry night.

The gown the woman wore changed into a gossamer night rail, similar to the one Thea was wearing now, but instead of soft cotton worn thin by years of washing, the heroine in her story wore fine silk that billowed around her as she danced. Her nipples peaked through the gauzy fabric, and Thea noticed the same had happened to her own body.

The unnamed man leaned closer to whisper in her ear. A request for a kiss. She was quick to agree. Thea shifted in her seat noticing the tingling warmth between her legs. She had felt such things before. A stirring of desire, but she was too caught up on the story to stop.

Soon the couple on the page were embroiled in a seduction Thea didn’t have the words for, but wished she did. For she couldn’t give the encounter the justice it deserved. She found herself wanting to know what it felt like.

Heat pooled between her legs. At her age, she’d experienced such desire before and found release at her own touch. Now though, it didn’t seem enough. She wished for more. She wanted to be able to tell this story from a different perspective. One of a woman who knew what it felt like to know a man’s touch.

But it was as if there was a gray void where that knowledge should be. If it had been anything else she would have found a way to research the subject completely so she could write on it thoroughly, but this…? How did one solicit research on kissing and desire?

The words slowed and finally she finished the scene with two unfulfilling words.

They kissed.

Frustrated, she gave up and went back to bed to toss and turn until dawn. After a quick breakfast, she went bleary-eyed into the drawing room and found the pages she’d written the night before.

Fanciful drivel. She tossed them aside to focus on the book she would be paid to write. When she heard the familiar thud of heavy boots on wooden porch planks, she closed her eyes, hoping to fend off the feelings of happiness and excitement at the marquess’s arrival, but it was no use.

*

“Are you well?” Shay asked, noticing Thea looked rather frazzled this morning. Moreso than her normal frazzle. The messy bun in her hair was askew and in danger of toppling over. The dark smudges under her eyes weren’t from ink. And the smile she normally offered him each morning when he arrived was a dim replica of her regular greeting.

“I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well. Too many… ideas, fluttering about.” She waved dismissively at her head, and he gathered she meant the complex eccentricities that were her amazing mind.

“Something exciting for our nameless hero, I hope.”

“It was all rubbish,” she snapped. Something was definitely off. They’d cleared the air the night before regarding her anxieties over his gambling. But still, he couldn’t help but think she was irritated at him personally.

“Do you wish me to go? Perhaps you would like to write in peace today?”

She opened her mouth as if to agree but then closed her lips and her eyes before shaking her head.

“No. You are welcome to stay. I’m just not myself this morning, but it will pass soon enough.” She mumbled something else he couldn’t hear, but he didn’t inquire.

She rubbed her fingers at her temples and then after shuffling a few stacks of pages together she held them out to him. He gladly took the offering and all but scurried back to the settee to dig into the next scenes of the Golden Feather adventure.

Without a name for the hero, Shay found it was easier to put himself into the story instead of a fictional character. Within minutes he was whisked away into the adventure, trying to find the culprit who’d stolen the golden feather.

Occasionally, he would glance up to see if Thea had improved and he would find her staring off or rubbing her forehead, but rarely did he catch her writing.

The more he looked up the further he was pulled from the story until he felt the need to address it.

“Something is obviously wrong. Won’t you have out with it so it can be addressed and the obstruction can be removed from your process?”

“I believe I need to go for a walk.”

Before he had the chance to offer his escort, she stood and went for the door.

“I shall return shortly.”

Obviously she didn’t want his company. He considered returning to the castle to allow her time and space to sort out whatever was bothering her, but he was at a particularly important part and couldn’t see to putting it down. He’d not be able to think of anything else.

He flipped to the next page and then the next, completely caught up in the near-miss of the hero being caught in the study during a ball, as he was rifling through drawers looking for evidence. And then suddenly Shay turned to the next page and frowned.

Thea’s writing was legible if not compact and rushed, but this was more difficult to read than the other pages. As if she’d been writing it faster than her usual speed. He thought she might have been as caught up in the action as he but as his eyes sorted through the scribbling on the paper he found himself pulled out of the tale of the golden feather and thrust into something far different.

His blue gaze, the color of a frozen lake in the Highlands, held her captive. But instead of an icy chill, she felt warm —here the word warm was crossed out and replaced by molten .

Shay read on.

Their fingers laced together, palm to palm in the same way she wanted their bodies. So close.

“Dear God,” Shay whispered as his eyes scoured the page. The rest of the story continued over two pages with phrases that made him harder than he’d been in ages.

…his warm breath in her ear caused a shiver of heat to chase up her spine…

…throbbing heat ached between her legs. An ache only he could soothe…

…her peaked nipples pressed through the thin silk of her night rail…

That last one threw him, not just because of her use of the word nipple, but because a sentence ago the characters had been at a ball filled with people. Somehow they were now alone and she wasn’t wearing a gown but a flimsy shift. And then…

“Mercy,” he almost choked when he flipped to the back and read the next line.

…he ripped the silk from her body and she stood before him naked and washed pale in silvery moonlight…

It went on, working toward something Shay very much wanted to read. Something that had him skipping words to get to it all the faster, but then it ended with only two words.

They kissed.

“Of course they bloody kissed,” he muttered out loud as he ripped through the rest of the pages looking for the finale of this story, no longer caring what happened to the sodding golden feather.

He had to know what she wrote about the couple because while he’d imagined himself as the hero of the Golden Feather story, he actually thought this story was written about him and Thea.

And if so, it would mean she wanted him. He shifted to relieve the pressure on his aching cock. If Thea wanted him, he would be more than happy to comply. His randy mind did not need much encouragement to offer images of Thea and him in his bed, or out in the gardens as he ripped her shift and kissed her.

But unlike black ink on a white page, this would be real, which meant when the characters reached the pinnacle of their story it would not collude with a mere “The End.” It would continue on into real life and that was not something he was capable of doing.

He could not bring Thea into his existence of deception and lies. There would be no happy ever after if he were to go down this path.

Folding the pages he tucked them into the pocket of the coat he’d tossed on a nearby chair when he’d arrived.

As he made to flee the cottage, he ran into her returning.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I just remembered some business I need to see to at the castle. I will see you for the ball tomorrow evening.” With that he rushed away, the pages in his coat felt like they were burning him where they touched his chest.

How was he supposed to go to a ball and dance with her after reading her naked—literally—thoughts on the page he’d stolen from her? Knowing she might want to kiss him.

Was he to be the one to keep them from doing something regrettable? Because that was never a role he managed well. He had always been the instigator of their bunch. Cheering his friends on to do even worse things.

And now, as if he’d hadn’t already been dealing with own misplaced desires of Thea Rockledge, he would have to somehow have the strength to deter her desires as well?

When he got to the castle, he was sweaty and out of breath.

“Gracious, what has happened?” Mrs. Murray asked as he nearly knocked her over in the corridor.

“Nothing. All is well. Just have business. In my study. Not to be disturbed,” he shouted as he entered the room and shut the door, turning the key for good measure, as if locking himself in the room would keep his own disturbed visions at bay. He was a man being chased down by the hounds of hell, with no way to escape and no ability to outrun them.

And perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, but Thea’s happiness hung in the balance. If she acted on her desires he would have to refuse her which would surely alter the friendship they’d formed. And if he didn’t refuse…

His breeches had grown so tight there was nothing to be done but to unbutton the placket and take hold of himself. Thinking of the words she’d written brought him to climax after only a few strokes. As he cleaned himself with a handkerchief, he let his head fall to the surface of the desk.

“Good God. What am I to do?”