Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

James stood before her, waiting for her answer.

“Yes,” she replied on a breath.

Renley frowned but let her go. “Just keep her away from George, eh?”

James offered her his hand. “That’s the plan.”

Rosalie let herself be led back onto the dance floor. “Why was His Grace’s manner so informal?” she dared to ask.

She thought for a moment he wouldn’t respond until he said, “To annoy me. Pay him no heed, Miss Harrow,” he added quickly. “After tonight, he’ll be safely engaged.”

She swallowed down her ready retort: engaged isn’t married…and even that doesn’t stop most men.

The master of ceremonies called out a reel and Rosalie and James took up their positions. She felt several sets of eyes on her from around the room. Dancing with a Corbin was drawing unwanted attention. Was this a bad idea?

The music began and James took her through the steps, quiet as the grave. And there was that confounded frown again. Who could glower like that while dancing? Down the set, the other couples smiled and laughed, offering little bits of conversation. She was about to make some polite comment when the reel brought them together. He leaned in and said, “I hear Burke made a fool of himself last night.”

She nearly missed her steps as she spun away and wove between the other dancers. She’d been trying very hard to keep all thoughts of Burke carefully sealed inside a box in her mind. If he was sorry for what he said, he would have come to her last night and apologized. Rosalie waited for him. She sat awake on her bed late into the night, candle burning low. She fell asleep atop her covers with her body angled towards the door…but he never came.

“You need to forgive him,” James said as they took a turn.

She gasped, jerking her hand away as they split. When they came back together, her eyes were blazing. “What did he tell you?”

She watched his jaw clench as he glanced around. The other couples chatted, clapping along to the music. “Everything,” he muttered. “You should know Burke tells me everything.”

“Oh god—” She hadn’t meant for the words to slip out of her lips. Everything? Did James know about Burke coming to her room? Did he know about the woods…the storage room? Why would Burke embarrass her by sharing their secrets?

“Talk to him,” James said when they came back together.

She bristled. “Surely, he can fight his own battles.”

“He is my friend—”

“And what am I to you?” Heavens, she hadn’t meant to say that out loud either. What was wrong with her tonight?

His jaw was tight as he glanced around again. “My mother’s ward.”

Her chest brushed up lightly against his shoulder as they linked arms and spun round. “Why are you trying to mend our fences?”

James lowered his voice. “Because I think I’m partially to blame. He has it in his mind that I have designs on you,” he said, voice low. “It’s messing with his head.”

“And do you, my lord?”

That muscle ticked in his jaw again as his eyes flashed. He glanced over his shoulder. “Brandon,” he barked, pulling a man forward by the shoulder. “Take my place.”

The gentleman stumbled into James’ spot and James broke the set, crossing over to the ladies’ side. He gripped Rosalie by the elbow and pulled her backwards. Several couples around them watched with wide eyes and more than a few whispers.

“What are you doing?” Rosalie rasped. This wasn’t just highly irregular. It was unthinkable. You didn’t break set in the middle of a dance—

“Miss Mariah,” James called. “Take Miss Harrow’s place. She’s feeling faint.”

Mariah hurried forward. “Oh, dear, are you unwell?” She cast her eye over Rosalie.

“She’s fine,” said James. “Just overheated.” He tugged on her arm, and they were moving, eyes watching them as he led her out of the ballroom by a side door.

“James, what are you—”

“Not here.”

He dragged her through the servant’s cupboard, then through another door that led down a narrow back hallway. A few footmen raised their brows in surprise but tactfully focused on their work.

“James—”

“Through here.” He pushed another door with his shoulder, and she blinked, wholly disoriented to find herself in the library. The sounds of the ball were quieter here as she stepped into the room, wrapped in the familiar smell of leather and books. The only light came from the full moon outside, flooding the room with a silvery glow.

James shut the door, revealing the other side as a false wall panel she’d never noticed before. “You can’t say such things where others might hear,” he chastised, one hand still pressed against the door.

“You brought it up,” she countered. “And now I must know—”

He spun around. “You don’t need to know everything, actually. There are a host of moving pieces on my chess board and you, Miss Harrow, are not privy to know my strategy.”

“I think I do if I am the piece being moved. You’re trying to fix things between Burke and me, and I want to know why.”

“Because,” he growled, stalking off towards the shelves.

She followed. “That is not a proper answer to give a person. Tell me why—”

He spun around again. “Because I want him to be happy! Because he is in love with you, but he loves me too, and he’s loyal to a bloody goddamn fault.” He took a step closer. “Because he’s one of the most stubborn men I’ve ever met, and when he makes up his mind about something, it takes an act of God to change it.”

“What does that make me? Am I his act of God? His plague of locusts?”

“You are his redemption,” James replied, sucking all the wind out of Rosalie’s sails.

She shrank back, tears in her eyes. “By your own admission, you say Burke loves me. You call me his redemption. Do you want to know what he called me?”

“He didn’t mean it. He’s in agony over it. Give him one minute of your time and you’ll see for yourself.”

Hope flickered like a candle inside her. Could it be true? She took a hesitant step forward, closing the space between them.

“But you have to reconsider this ludicrous notion that you’ll not marry him.”

Rosalie paused, heart pounding in her chest. “What did you say?”

James narrowed his eyes at her, trying to read her with a look. “Why won’t you marry him? Is it his family history?”

“No, of course not—”

“His lack of position then? Or perhaps you wish to find someone titled. Someone with a tidy fortune to keep you in the finest fashions?”

“Is this coming from Burke?” she asked, incredulous. “Does he ask these questions…or do you ask for yourself? I already told you I am not looking for a husband—”

“Which means exactly nothing,” he said with a scoff. “A spirited lady like yourself may hold that opinion when she is young and confident and thinks no gentleman will ever love her the way they do in novels—”

“You dare,” she hissed.

“But then those spirited ladies become more acquainted with the world, and they learn to manage their expectations. They see what a good man like Burke can be and they marry him. I’m just trying to save you both whatever misery comes between this trifling argument and your happily ever after. Admit to me now that you want to marry him, and I will settle a sum on him so he can be worthy of you. Go on, Miss Harrow, name your price—”

“You’re despicable—”

“I’m pragmatic,” he said leaning into her space, claiming her air with his dark energy.

What was wrong with him? This wasn’t James. He was honest, but he wasn’t cruel. He didn’t seek to attack. What was Rosalie missing? Her mind spun as she thought back over all his words since asking her to dance. She took a breath and stepped back. “Where would Burke get such a notion, my lord? For he is neither a foolish man nor prone to reading people wrongly.”

James blinked. “What?”

“Burke is the most socially sensitive person I’ve ever met,” she went on. “He reads people like open books. I am sure, given your closeness, he reads you with his eyes closed. If he sees something in you, it must be there. So, tell me James…what am I to you?”

“We’re not going to discuss this—”

“What am I to you?”

“You are a distraction!” He swept forward, his face inches from hers. “You are a passing infatuation that I cannot afford. You will ruin me, and I have to stop it.” His words had her leaning back, eyes wide. “How could you make me a proper wife? I can’t even call your connections merely inferior, for you have none! You said yourself you have no family, no money, no title. You are beautiful and good tempered, and that is all.”

She gasped, indignation flooding her veins.

“And that is saying nothing about the fact that you’ve recently had your tongue down the throats of both my closest friends. If Burke is to be believed, you even managed them at the same time,” he scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “If you had any propriety or proper breeding you’d never dare be so loose—”

Rosalie slapped him as hard as she could. He spun away, one hand raising to touch his jaw. She held her gloved hand suspended in the air between them, chest heaving in her tight stays as she tried to contain her sobs.

“Don’t—” she choked out. “Don’t you dare judge me. You have no idea what’s in my heart. You asked, and I will answer, though you do not deserve my truth. I don’t want to get married. Not to Burke, not to Renley, and most certainly never to you. For I will not give any man such power over my life. My beast of a father is dead, and I have no brother. I am free of the control of men. This bird will know no cages.”

He took a step forward. “Miss Harrow—”

“You’ve said and done quite enough, sir,” she said, lowering her shaking hand to her side. “I must beg you to release me now.” She spun on her heel heading for the door, desperate to flee before her tears began to fall.

“Wait—” James snatched her elbow and pulled her back, pressing her against the bookcase. “Don’t go. I was angry. Not at you.” He raked his free hand through his hair, still holding her pinned with the other. “It’s George—it’s…all of it. Fuck.”

Her breathing was labored as she felt the heat of the hand holding her pinned to the bookcase. He was touching her above the line of her glove. Had he noticed? She swallowed, indignation still pulsing in her veins. He wasn’t offering an apology, merely an explanation…and a poor one at that.

“James, please…just tell me what you want. Do you want me to go? I can turn your mother down. I can leave Alcott. Everything could be as it was before—”

“Nothing will be as it was. Not…Burke will never get over you. Even Renley…”

Rosalie fought to control the hitch in her breath.

“You certainly work fast,” he said with a mirthless laugh. “Was that your design?”

“I did nothing,” she hissed. “I came here with only one motive: to accept the condolences of your mother for the loss of mine. All the rest, I neither sought out nor asked for. But you make the rules here, Atlas. You carry the weight of the world. You control all our fates. Tell me what you want me to do, and I’ll do it.”

She waited, eyes locked on him, trying to read his face. He looked so tired, so full of resentment. “I cannot just say—”

“You are the only one who can say,” she cried. “What do you want?”

“I want—fuck—” His words faltered as he dropped his hand from her arm.

“For the love of God, just tell me what you want—”

Her words died with a gasp as he pressed her into the bookcase, his hands on her shoulders. She managed one breath before his mouth claimed hers in a bruising kiss. For the briefest of moments, she was ready to shove him off. Without realizing when or how, she pulled him closer instead.

He groaned against her lips as he slanted his mouth over hers. His fingers brushed over the elegant pearls at her throat before he cupped her cheek. She tasted the sweet brandy on his tongue as the intensity of his kiss forced her head back. His fingers slid from her cheek to her hair, weaving into the braids, holding her tight as he begged without words for her to open deeper for him. She clung to him, melting into the heat of his kisses that had her core fluttering.

He grabbed her wrists and jerked both arms up over her head, pressing them to the bookcase as he stepped in. She sighed as she felt his weight press against her, holding her captive. In this moment of vulnerability, Rosalie saw through his angry words. She saw through his thick walls of duty and respectability. Here in his arms, feeling the electric heat of his touch, she knew she was seeing the man who dwelled within that lonely fortress. James Corbin was hungry and desperate, a man too long starved for affection.

Let me in, her heart cried out.

He deserved love. He deserved care and compassion. James needed the warmth of connection, of belonging to another person as more than a friend or a brother or a master. He needed companionship. In this stolen moment, wrapped as they were in the moon’s soft light, she would give him what he needed. She pressed her hips eagerly against him and chased each kiss. They fought for control, even as he kept her hands pined above her head. He was starving, but so was she. Two creatures trapped in cages of their own making, longing to be free.

He pulled away and she gasped as his lips covered the pulse point on her neck. He gave her wrists a press, telling her to stay put, then his hands dropped away, sliding down her arms to cup her breasts. She savored all the ways her body responded to his fevered touch. She arched into him with a soft moan, twisting her wrists until she could grip the shelf.

His fingers brushed back over the pearls at her throat as he claimed her lips again. Something about the way his hand lingered on the necklace pierced her cloud of lust. She let out a soft gasp of panic. She was standing in his brother’s house, wearing his mother’s pearls, kissing him in the dark. James Corbin was off limits…and they both knew it.

He felt her hesitation and groaned, breaking their kiss. They panted for a moment, lips inches apart. Then suddenly, his warmth was gone, sucked away with all her air as he took two steps back. He dragged a shaking hand through his hair and tugged at his waistcoat, quickly rebuilding his stone walls. She sank back against the bookcase. Why did she suddenly feel so bereft?

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “That won’t happen again.”

Her heart broke for him. Too afraid to want…too afraid to be wanted. “James—”

“No,” he said, his eyes flashing with determination. “It won’t happen again.”

A simmering moment stretched between them.

“I need to go,” she whispered. They both knew what she really meant.

“Stay.”

“But—”

He stepped back into her space, making her head spin. “You will stay at Alcott.” His words were spoken almost against her lips. “Don’t miss this chance on my account. Stay on your own terms.”

“Hmm-hmm.”

Rosalie spun with James to face the servant’s door. In the time they were kissing, it must have opened, for the butler was now standing with them in the dark.

“Goddamn it, Reed. Announce yourself next time,” James barked, using his body like a shield to block Rosalie from view.

“Beg your pardon, my lord,” Reed said in that deep voice. “But Her Grace is asking for Miss Harrow.”