Read Online Yearn by Tobsha Learner - Free Book Online

stratosphere Mr. Tuttle can never possibly imagine, never mind actually achieve! A secret account of a magic ritual conducted by the young Joseph Banks on the island of Tahiti—the contents of which are so scandalous, so un-Christian in the most titillating way that it will assure huge sales of the book. Sir, you and I will both be rich!”
    The publisher studied the young man standing before him, taking into account his heightened color, the feverish glaze of his eyes, the exhaustion that played across the taut cheekbones. He was fond of the young biographer, having nurtured him through his first manuscript, believed in him when others had not, nursed him through the bouts of insecurity and, on occasion, paranoia; why, he’d even been known to advance him money—but, most important of all, he had been at Harrow with D’Arcy Hammer’s father, Lord Hammer, and in England that, as we know, counted for an awful lot.
    â€œMy dear young man, are you eating properly?” he inquired, brushing the last of the Stilton from his face.
    â€œDid you not hear me? I tell you I have discovered the Holy Grail of biographies, the unpublishable heart of the great man. Why, the journal itself was hidden up a chimney in the Royal Institute—Joseph Banks’s old study.”
    â€œAnd you are absolutely positive it is genuine?”
    â€œI am positive it is written in the hand of Joseph Banks and much of the reportage correlates with his earlier journal. Also, from an anthropological perspective, the description of the ritual, the artifacts used, names of gods invoked, these are all correct. There is one last piece of research I intend to carry out tomorrow night which will prove one hundred percent that the journal is authentic. Once that is completed I will insert an account of the ritual and a description of the discovery of the secret journal into the manuscript within the week.”
    â€œThat alone will ensure an article in
The Times.
” The publisher, now infected with D’Arcy’s enthusiasm, had already begun to embark upon a marketing strategy.
    â€œAs well as a lecture series, perhaps starting in the very room which houses the chimney the journal was found in,” D’Arcy added eagerly.
    â€œBrilliant, my young man! I shall have it typeset the very day you deliver the manuscript! Now, about this last piece of research, are we confident you can ensure the authenticity of the material?”
    D’Arcy smiled. He couldn’t help but imagine Crosby’s expression if he knew the exact nature of D’Arcy’s “research.” “Oh yes, that and a whole lot more,” he concluded a little more mysteriously than he had intended.
    Â â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢Â 
    D’Arcy had chosen a small wood in Essex—a two-hour coach ride during which Prudence, Harry, and young Amelia had, with the help of a few bottles of stout, become noisily acquainted. Secured to the roof of the swaying coach was a small crate containing the squealing piglet, the ground cloth (meticulously stitched, pressed, and folded, with a silk label reading “Harringtons and Harringtons of Saville Row” fixed neatly into one corner), a quantity of black candles, the wooden bowl, rubbing oil, a portable clock, some water, and, of course, one large yam. He had the precious white glove tucked firmly into the pocket of his frock coat. As far as D’Arcy could tell, he’d not missed any of the elements needed—now all that was required was precise timing, the actual orgy, and the rising of the sun, the one element he was confident of.
    By the time they had arrived at the entrance to the woodland, the others were quite tipsy, with Harry the sweep entertaining the two women with bawdy jokes that had them roaring with laughter. D’Arcy wasn’t quite so amused. The seriousness of the venture had finally impressed itself upon his sensibility. He had to execute the ritual