by Julia Tagan
“Never. I’ll never stop. I’ve missed you so much. Your sweetness, your scent.”
His thigh pressed against her cleft, and her hips moved as if of their own accord, wanting more of him. He pulled away, teasing her, so she felt the absence of him even more strongly.
Finally, she could no longer take the anticipation. She fumbled with his breeches while he lifted her skirts and, after all of the materials and layers had been removed between them, he eased himself into her. She was full, complete, and alive. He moved slowly at first, then built the momentum so that within minutes she reached the peak of her pleasure, her body throbbing and pulsating with energy. He soon followed, crying out with abandon.
After they were both spent they lay close, breathing as one.
“Does that provide you with an answer?” he whispered. “If you marry me, I will continue to provide you with the pleasure you so deserve.”
She kissed him gently on the lips. “I will. I will marry you, William Talbot Butler or whoever you are.”
“I am yours. That’s who I am. I’m yours.”
Chapter 20
Harriet went to her window and cast an uneasy glance into the sky, watching for signs of snow. It was too dark to tell what exactly the clouds were doing, typical of a December evening, but a quick look at the lamps across the street confirmed her suspicion. Tiny flakes were beginning to fall.
“Don’t worry, ma’am, if it’s only beginning you’ll make it to the theater with no trouble.”
“Thank you, Lily.” Harriet smiled at her lady’s maid and allowed her to help her into her velvet gown. The opening night performance of a farce by Henry Butler would begin in less than an hour, but she’d been so busy at the theater with last minute preparations she hadn’t considered her own ensemble until now.
“Are you sorry you’re not performing in this one, ma’am?” Lily guided her to her dressing table and picked up a brush. “I can imagine it’s wonderful to step foot on the stage, with all of those people watching you.”
“I’m happy to take a break.” Harriet slid some armlets over her wrists while Lily artfully arranged her unruly mane on top of her head. A year ago, William had insisted they hire the best help possible, as both he and Harriet were so busy with their occupations. Their servants kept the stately townhouse on Orchard Street humming along with precision.
Although the size of the residence bordered on diminutive compared to what William was used to, it suited Harriet perfectly. There were no extraneous rooms to fill and the ones they had were decorated in warm, rich hues with comfortable pillows on the sofas. Every Saturday evening after the show they’d invite couples from all walks of life to dinner, where the talk veered from poetry to politics and laughter filled the air.
She was quite relieved not to be performing for once, as her schedule was already filled with meetings and plans for the spring. Tonight was the first time William would see the play, and she was more nervous about his reaction to his late father’s work than any of London’s harshest critics.
Once she’d been made presentable, she walked downstairs to the foyer. “No sign of Dr. Talbot yet?” she asked the waiting footman. It had taken some time to remember to drop the “lordship” when speaking of her husband to the help, as William preferred. Still every so often she forgot and had to correct herself.
“Not yet, ma’am.”
“Very well, I suppose he’s planning on meeting me at the theater. I’ll take the carriage, as I can’t be late.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Over a year had passed since the Covent Garden fire, but as they rumbled past the spot Harriet stared hard out the window and said a silent prayer for the souls who’d been killed, including her father and brother. Work had begun on a new theater, the limestone walls already in place.
Patrons were streaming though the front doors of the Drury Lane Theatre when her carriage pulled up. She held out her hand for assistance in disembarking, and was surprised to find it enveloped in the large, warm hand of her husband.
“William!”
“I was kept late and decided I’d surprise you here instead.” He pulled her to him and she breathed in the scent she knew so well, one of rosewood and mint. Several people stared in their direction but she didn’t care, and gave him a quick kiss on the mouth before pulling away.
“Has Mr. Urswick been keeping you busy?” She’d been thrilled when Urswick had agreed to relocate to London, at William’s request. And even happier when the two men established a clinic for the poor, complete with a research laboratory, on Mile End Road.
“Very busy. We saw twenty patients today.” He was beaming, and she couldn’t help but smile.
They made their way into the theater, moving slowly amidst the lumbering crowd, slowed further by the many times William had to stop and shake hands and accept heartfelt offers of congratulations. The economic implications of licensing the malaria patent had been, as he’d predicted, extraordinary. Their coffers had been enriched even further by the surge of ticket revenue from the theater company. They were, in a word, rich.
William squeezed her arm. “I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to do some good, to lay hands on a child or an old man or a young mother and determine what’s wrong. It means so much to me, to be able to make a difference, however small. All thanks to you, my love.”
“You give me far too much credit.”
“You were my inspiration.”
He still had the ability to make Harriet blush. “I only hope you don’t find it too unbearable: doing something so noble during the day and watching a silly play in the evening.”
“The beauty of art is what makes the rest of the world bearable.”
“I couldn’t have said it better myself. You should write a play, you know.”
He shook his head and smiled down at her, then his gaze drifted over her shoulder and his eyes grew wide.
She turned her head at sound of her name. To her astonishment, the duchess was trundling their way.
Harriet glanced over at William, who raised his eyebrows.
“I’m so glad I caught up with you, Harriet.” The duchess turned to William. “And you too, Lord Abingdon.”
William moved ever so slightly closer to Harriet and she appreciated his protective instincts.
“You’re here to see the play?” asked Harriet.
“Yes, everyone’s talking about it. Marianne was going to come as well but she had a last minute change of plans.”
William spoke up. “I hope everything is well with Lady Marianne.”
“Oh yes. In fact, Lord and Lady Bancroft’s son, who’s recently returned from service, just asked her to marry him. Isn’t that exciting?”
Harriet was surprised the duchess spoke so freely in front of her and William, as if they were close friends. She tried to find the appropriate response. “I hope she’ll be happy.”
The duchess laid a gloved hand upon Harriet’s arm. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for how things ended up. You were like a daughter to me and I treated you badly in the end. Now Marianne’s finally settled, as am I, I believe I was harsh and I hope you’ll not hold it against me.”
Harriet wasn’t sure she could forgive the woman so easily, but the beseeching look in her eyes made her soften. “Of course not, Your Grace.”
“Why don’t you pay a call on me next week? We’ll catch up then. Oh, and I do have a quick question. Now Covent Garden’s gone I’m having a terrible time getting the box seats I prefer here. Such demand. Do you think you have any influence?”
“I’m sure I do.”
“Delightful. Very well then. Until next week.”
She trotted away and Harriet looked at William, aghast. “I don’t believe it.”
“Nor do I.”
They entered their own private box, where Jasper and Claire were already se
ated. The orchestra started to play and Harriet’s heart leaped to her throat, as it always did the moment before the curtain rose.
“I can’t believe I’m about to hear my father’s words,” whispered William.
Harriet smiled. She was surrounded by family, the ones she’d chosen and the ones who’d chosen her, and couldn’t have been happier.
The curtain rose, the actors took the stage, and the play began.
Meet the Author
Julia Tagan lives with her husband and goldendoodle in New York City. A journalist by training, she enjoys weaving actual events and notorious individuals into her historical romances. Her favorite activities include walking her dog in Central Park, scouring farmers’ markets for the perfect tomato, and traveling to foreign cities in search of inspiration.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank several authors and friends who provided guidance in the early drafts, including Ella Quinn, Leigh Michaels, Catherine McNally, and Madeline Rispoli. And a huge thanks to Paige Christian, editor extraordinaire and to Alex, for your unflagging enthusiasm.
Author’s Note
Dear Reader:
Several of the historical elements of Stages of Desire were reworked and refashioned for the purposes of the plot. For readers who are history buffs, here’s the scoop:
• Up until the 20th century, malaria was endemic throughout England, particularly along the coast, where mosquitos thrived in fens and marshes. In the 1600s, an English apothecary’s apprentice named Robert Talbor successfully treated King Charles II of his malaria using cinchona bark, but it wasn’t until 1820 that two Frenchmen, Pierre Pelletier and Joseph Caventou, isolated the quinine extract that became the go-to remedy.
• The Covent Garden Theatre burnt down in September 1808, killing 23 firemen and destroying Handel’s organ as well as many of his manuscripts. Legend has it that the celebrated actress Sarah Siddons lost her entire collection of costumes and jewelry in the blaze, including a piece of lace that once belonged to Marie Antoinette. A new theater opened on the spot a year later.
I hope you enjoyed Stages of Desire. As an author, I love feedback, and the influence of reader reviews can’t be overstated in this digital age. So if you’re inclined, feel free to post a review and let me know what you think. My author page on Amazon with all of my books can be found here: https://www.amazon.com/author/juliatagan.
Thanks for spending time with Harriet, William, and me. I truly appreciate it.
Gratefully,
Julia Tagan
juliatagan.com
Preview
Turn the page for a special excerpt of Julia Tagan’s
A Question of Class
United to exact revenge on a common enemy, they discover passion is the ultimate reward.
On the strength of her wit and intelligence, Catherine Delcour climbed from Connecticut poverty to opulent Paris society. But once in New York, her lowly past is a scandal her wine merchant husband won’t tolerate. After five years of marriage, Morris announces their union isn’t valid and reveals his plan to send her to the West Indies. So long as she behaves, he’ll continue to provide for her until the ship leaves. Fearing she’ll end up destitute, Catherine schemes to escape--and secure her future with his treasured bottle of wine.
Under the guise of supervising Delcour’s wayward wife, Benjamin Thomas seeks to avenge his sister’s death by ruining him. But Catherine isn’t the spoiled society wife Benjamin expects. His growing affection for Catherine threatens more than his carefully constructed plans. His vow to never touch another man’s wife has never been harder to keep than when he’s around the beguiling beauty.
When Catherine and Benjamin join forces, their sensual natures collide even as their individual desires for passion, vengeance, and escape threaten to tear them apart.
On sale now
Chapter 1
The Island of Manhattan, 1810
“Unfortunately, my dear, we were never married.”
Catherine stared in horror at her husband. Or, whom she’d thought was her husband. Morris’s dark eyes, which once gazed upon her with delight, now twinkled with mad glee as he slurped turtle soup.
“How can that be?” she asked. “I was there, I heard the captain of the ship proclaim us man and wife.”
“You see, any marriage made on a merchant ship is not valid.” Morris wiped his mouth with his napkin.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“The captain of a merchant ship has no such power.”
“Why didn’t he tell us that?”
Morris didn’t answer.
Catherine dug her nails into the flesh of her palms. “He did tell you, didn’t he? You knew. And you tricked me.”
“Can you blame me? A poor man driven mad by desire. You are an exquisite piece of flesh.”
The room swayed. Morris was savoring every moment. Catherine knew her husband had the capacity to be crude and self-centered, but she’d figured she could stay one step ahead of him. Instead, she’d underestimated the man.
She inhaled deeply. “And why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I’m afraid it’s time for me to move on.”
“Move on?” As Catherine struggled to keep her voice even, a harsh realization dawned on her. “I see. Now you’ve discovered I won’t be accepted by New York high society, you have no more use for me.”
“You’ve learned so much from me the past five years⎯French, dancing, singing. I’m sure you’ll be able to snare someone else the way you did me soon enough.”
“I didn’t snare you. I was only fifteen. I had never—”
Mrs. Daggett strode into the room carrying an overcooked pheasant on a platter and placed it on the table. Catherine’s stomach roiled. She focused on smoothing out her napkin.
“Are you enjoying your supper, sir?” Mrs. Daggett asked. Morris grunted in return.
Mrs. Daggett cleared away Catherine’s untouched soup dish with a flourish and glanced down at her with disdain.
“Not feeling well, ma’am?”
It was enough to make one wonder who was the mistress and who was the servant, although after the last few months Catherine had gotten used to receiving reproving glances. First from the ladies of New York society. And now from Morris.
“I’m fine, thank you.” Catherine glared back and waited for Mrs. Daggett to leave. If Catherine appealed to Morris’s vanity, she might stand a chance of reasoning with the man.
The door clicked shut. “You’ve done so well for yourself, Morris, and you’ve often said I’ve helped you in so many ways.” Catherine hated the hint of desperation in her voice. “I encouraged you with your business in France, and I did my best in New York.”
“You did fine in Paris, my pet. You charmed all my associates and their wives. But not here, I’m afraid.”
Catherine had to admit it hadn’t taken long for the truth to come out that she was a lowly girl, with no money or family connections. She’d made a splash on the arm of her older husband in France, but in New York, where pedigree trumped all, she’d never be accepted by established New York families like the Astors and the Gracies, no matter how badly Morris wanted it. And although Morris’s wine importing business had done fairly well since he’d arrived in New York, his mood toward Catherine had changed. In France, he’d been encouraging. But his demeanor had become mercurial and impatient as he realized Catherine prevented him from rising above the merchant class.
“Give me a little more time,” said Catherine. “They simply need to get to know me.”
“You’ve had all the time I’m prepared to give. I thought by now we’d be hosting grand balls for the other families who can afford to have a place in the country. Instead we’re outcasts, and I can’t take you back into town and be snubbed once again. In order to grow the business I need to have the backing
of the best of society. And because of you, that’s not going to happen.”
Morris was right. The unwritten rules of propriety and class in New York were much stricter than in France, to both of their surprises. “But you know I have nowhere to go,” she said.
“I’ve already thought of that.” Morris leaned back in the chair and put his hands on his rotund belly. He was turning fifty this year and his stocky body seemed to get heavier with each passing month. He glared at Catherine from under bushy, unruly eyebrows. “One of my ships is heading to the West Indies in a week. I’m off to Trenton the day after next, and I’ll be away on business until then. When I get back, we’ll put you on that ship and, if you agree not to return, I’ll be sure you get a good sum of money once you reach your destination.”
“And what on earth will I do in the West Indies?”
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll find something to do. You’re quite bright, you know.”
Morris’s patronizing tone sent Catherine over the edge. She’d put up with his nonsense for far too long, and enough was enough. “So you’re throwing me off, like a used pair of boots? I’ve done everything you’ve asked. You can’t do this. I won’t go.”
“Remember what happened last time you disagreed with me,” said Morris in a low growl.
Even though he was sitting at the far end of the table, Catherine knew he could turn on her in a flash if angered. His frustration had become physical a few months ago. She stayed silent.
“Furthermore, there are rumors, my dear.”
“What kind of rumors?”
“You’ve sullied my reputation. And with that idiot, Percy Bonneville. I think that’s reason enough to send you packing, don’t you?”
“Percy Bonneville? That’s ridiculous. Mr. Bonneville is merely an acquaintance.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
