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Authors: Maggie Robinson
Tags: Fiction, Historical Romance
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as the blood that seeped from Nicky’s wound.
She woke with a start and sat up. Harold objected, kneading the coverlet until he was comfortable again. The room was black, the house quiet. Wiping the tears from her face, she punched down the pillow and started her night all over again.
But sleep wouldn’t come. She hated nights like that, when her old demons took root and wouldn’t leave. She supposed she deserved every minute of their haunting—she’d courted sin with naïve fervor, caught it, embraced it.
She’d loved Nicky with all her heart. He was nearly her twin, born just fifteen months before she was. They’d been inseparable until he was sent off to school. Caroline was nearly joyful when her father couldn’t afford to send him to university. But by then he had a new friend, a better friend, Andrew Rossiter. When Caroline’s father died suddenly over a hand of bad cards, Nicky invited Andrew to live with them. An orphan himself with no particular place to go, Andrew had happily assented. Their guardian, a man as improvident as their father, didn’t trouble himself to supervise them, preferring to spend their tiny inheritance in far-off London. When then sensible Mary eloped with her soldier, the three of them had the house to themselves.
There was no one to tell them what to do. There was no one to tell them what not to do. So they did everything, until the money ran out.
It was Andrew who got the bright idea to turn their home into a kind of hotel for vice. Gentlemen who wanted to escape the strictures of town were happy to comply with their exorbitant tariffs. Every month of the year they came for one week of unlimited food, unlimited wine, unlimited sex, gambling, drugs—everything and anything was available for the right price chez Parker. There was no limit to Andrew’s connections or imagination. Caroline was sheltered from most of the debauchery, actually locked safe in her room, because Nicky foolishly hoped she’d make a good marriage someday. He was far more anxious than she was for her to find a rich man to improve the family coffers.
Caroline had already found the man she wanted. He wasn’t rich, but he had the key to her room, and he had found her . She’d been too stupid to see why he wanted her, imagining it was her beauty—which was undeniable and not at all vain for her to acknowledge—her carefree spirit, her loving heart. She was a most willing pupil in each and every one of Andrew Rossiter’s lessons, odd as they had sometimes seemed. She grew used to everything, and then he made her crave it.
It wasn’t until her brother shot himself that she found out the truth. And by then, it was too late for all of them.
Caroline’s entire life was filled with “too lates.” It was certainly too late to be awake, reliving a nightmare. It was too late to find happiness with Edward, too late to be a mother. Even her manuscript would arrive too late, unless she could find a way to churn the words out faster between servicing her husband on his schedule and regretting she had ever met him.
But it was just for a few weeks. She could endure anything. She already had.
Chapter 6
His appetites were insatiable, keeping her a slave from morning until night, until the hours turned into days and Mariette heard no cock crow but his.
—Dreams at Dawn
T here was the faintest tickling on her nose. The damn cat and its tail. Caroline blew out a stream of air to shoo him away, but didn’t open her eyes, unwilling to see Harold’s equipment so close and so early in the morning. But the sensation increased, dancing across her eyelids like little fairy feet. Caroline scrunched up her face and rolled to the side. A feather-light stroke from her jaw to her clavicle made her reconsider. Either Harold had developed opposable thumbs, or she was being touched by a human. She waited, wondering if she should cry out for help or lie back and enjoy the gentle assault. A quick glance up to the
She woke with a start and sat up. Harold objected, kneading the coverlet until he was comfortable again. The room was black, the house quiet. Wiping the tears from her face, she punched down the pillow and started her night all over again.
But sleep wouldn’t come. She hated nights like that, when her old demons took root and wouldn’t leave. She supposed she deserved every minute of their haunting—she’d courted sin with naïve fervor, caught it, embraced it.
She’d loved Nicky with all her heart. He was nearly her twin, born just fifteen months before she was. They’d been inseparable until he was sent off to school. Caroline was nearly joyful when her father couldn’t afford to send him to university. But by then he had a new friend, a better friend, Andrew Rossiter. When Caroline’s father died suddenly over a hand of bad cards, Nicky invited Andrew to live with them. An orphan himself with no particular place to go, Andrew had happily assented. Their guardian, a man as improvident as their father, didn’t trouble himself to supervise them, preferring to spend their tiny inheritance in far-off London. When then sensible Mary eloped with her soldier, the three of them had the house to themselves.
There was no one to tell them what to do. There was no one to tell them what not to do. So they did everything, until the money ran out.
It was Andrew who got the bright idea to turn their home into a kind of hotel for vice. Gentlemen who wanted to escape the strictures of town were happy to comply with their exorbitant tariffs. Every month of the year they came for one week of unlimited food, unlimited wine, unlimited sex, gambling, drugs—everything and anything was available for the right price chez Parker. There was no limit to Andrew’s connections or imagination. Caroline was sheltered from most of the debauchery, actually locked safe in her room, because Nicky foolishly hoped she’d make a good marriage someday. He was far more anxious than she was for her to find a rich man to improve the family coffers.
Caroline had already found the man she wanted. He wasn’t rich, but he had the key to her room, and he had found her . She’d been too stupid to see why he wanted her, imagining it was her beauty—which was undeniable and not at all vain for her to acknowledge—her carefree spirit, her loving heart. She was a most willing pupil in each and every one of Andrew Rossiter’s lessons, odd as they had sometimes seemed. She grew used to everything, and then he made her crave it.
It wasn’t until her brother shot himself that she found out the truth. And by then, it was too late for all of them.
Caroline’s entire life was filled with “too lates.” It was certainly too late to be awake, reliving a nightmare. It was too late to find happiness with Edward, too late to be a mother. Even her manuscript would arrive too late, unless she could find a way to churn the words out faster between servicing her husband on his schedule and regretting she had ever met him.
But it was just for a few weeks. She could endure anything. She already had.
Chapter 6
His appetites were insatiable, keeping her a slave from morning until night, until the hours turned into days and Mariette heard no cock crow but his.
—Dreams at Dawn
T here was the faintest tickling on her nose. The damn cat and its tail. Caroline blew out a stream of air to shoo him away, but didn’t open her eyes, unwilling to see Harold’s equipment so close and so early in the morning. But the sensation increased, dancing across her eyelids like little fairy feet. Caroline scrunched up her face and rolled to the side. A feather-light stroke from her jaw to her clavicle made her reconsider. Either Harold had developed opposable thumbs, or she was being touched by a human. She waited, wondering if she should cry out for help or lie back and enjoy the gentle assault. A quick glance up to the
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