Beautiful Things (Second Sons, #1)

by Emily Rath

“Why should you want to hold the whip?” She squared her shoulders at him. “Because you men have not been at your best today, and I reserve the right to strike you with it should your hands begin to wander anywhere I don’t want them.”

“You direct your threat at the wrong person, Your Grace. As I’ve already said, I have no interest in marriage. If any of the gentlemen under your charge seek to claim me as a wife, it will be their hearts that break…not mine.”

There was no way Rosalie could relate to a woman who opted to wear diamonds to breakfast.

To any lady, the most dangerous animal in England was not the wolf or the boar. It was the entitled English gentleman with an excess of charm and nothing to lose.

“All women live their lives in a cage, sir. It is our blessing and our curse. A blessing when men fill the cage with comforts and sweets and place the cage with a goodly view of the outside world…a curse when we are left beating our wings against the bars, isolated and alone…with no way out.”

“Grief is different for everyone,” she replied. “My method has been harsh denial. I put everything about my mother in a fine box in my mind, trimmed with lovely blue velvet…then I shut the lid.”

Lmao same

“It’s just a swan,” she whispered. “No, it’s a devil,” he replied, his body tense. “Be quiet.”

“I’m through! Mother insisted on having swans on the property, but they’re a goddamn nightmare. Territorial and aggressive. That cob is a devil. He’s attacked me twice.” Rosalie fought the urge to laugh. Apparently, Lord James was fending off constant threat from all corners—man and beast. No wonder he struggled to sleep at night.

🦢

“Lady Olivia, I believe a widow and her young children are selling flowers over by the smithy. Why don’t you do us all a favor and go spit on them? Best leave no one in doubt of your ugliness.”

“I would gladly kill the man who hurt you,” he said, his voice somehow soft, even as he threatened violence.

“Are you not tired, brave Atlas, from holding up all the world on your shoulders?”

“George says he’s going to propose to Miss Harrow,” James snapped.

George didn’t look up as he refilled his glass with wine. “What is what?” Burke read the papers aloud. “Mousey, Ice Queen, Red One, Red Two—what the hell is this?”

“Six if you count the lovely little Cabbage Rose.” Burke clenched his jaw. “What?” “His name for Rosalie is Cabbage Rose,” James murmured, holding out the crumpled strip of paper in his hand.

“Come on,” George snickered. “It’s funny. She’s poor, so she’s like a little cabbage rose. I mean, I know you don’t find it funny,” he shot at James. “But you want to fuck her so—”

“Look at me like that again, and I’ll gladly take you into those trees and kiss you until you come apart.” He dared to trace his thumb over her mouth. “Before I’m done, my name will be a prayer on these perfect lips.”

Christ, he wanted Rosalie for himself. He almost laughed aloud at the realization. What was worse, he desperately wanted her to want him too. He wanted passion and love. He wanted hunger that verged on obsession. Instead, he was empty…empty…empty.

“I’m a patient man. It will make it all the sweeter when you set aside this ludicrous notion of restraint. We are inevitable.”

“In the end, my love wasn’t enough. Why should it suddenly be enough now? If I value my pride, how can I accept her renewed attentions?”

“Do you have the slightest notion of our constant, debilitating fear? Knowing that at every moment our fortunes depend upon staying in the good graces of the men in our lives? That we are all, at every moment of the day, one step away from ruination, whether we are a lowly gentleman’s daughter or even a queen.”

“Yes to kissing you…or yes to my fingers in your cunt?”

“Perhaps we can leave it to fate and simply draw from a hat.” Both men went still as stone.

“You want him too…don’t you?” She saw the confusion in Renley’s eyes, the curiosity, the stifled hope. He’d been burned once before. The scars of that love were still so raw. She couldn’t bear to hurt him. “Yes,” she whispered. “To earn his friendship would mean everything to me.” “Show him.” She glanced from one man to the other. Renley looked just as confused. “Burke, what are you—” “Show him the kind of friend you want him to be,” Burke pressed. “Here in these woods, with no one else to see, show us how we make you feel.”

He used one finger to gently open her, testing to see if she was ready. Silly sailor, she’d been soaking since they were in the woods.

“Hold still, and we’ll tongue fuck you together until you come apart,” Burke growled, keeping his face low to her sex.

“You can’t say these things to me,” he said, voice tight. She crossed her arms over her chest. “And why not?” “Because it makes me want to kill whoever hurt you,” he replied, leaning into her space, trying to claim her air. “Give me their names, and I’ll bring you their heads.”

“You call me siren,” she said with a soft smile, loving the feel of his eyes on her. “The name is fitting, for if you sail too close, I think I mean to claim you. I will snatch the soul from your chest. It will be mine…but I’ll not marry you. Any of you. I can’t relinquish that power. I want to be free, Burke. Let me be free, and I will freely choose to…to love you.”

“Claim me, ruin me, own me—”

“Seeing you like this makes me want to keep you in here. I’d bend you over the piano, just like I wanted to do the night we sang our duet.”

“You’re mine, Burke. And since you are such a fan of my jealous nature, let me say this: if you so much as look at another woman tonight, I’ll cut off those traitorous fingers and feed them to the feral swans in the lake.” His smile turned positively devilish. “Christ, get out of here before I bend you over this piano and fuck you til you scream.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t discover your ridiculous plan? As long as you dare insult the honor of this family by claiming to take both those women, you will see nothing but the palm of my hand against your worthless face!”