Page 30 of The Temptation of Roan Island

So with purpose, I wash my face and get dressed. I don’t have to do much, just enough to feel normal. Bathing. Breakfast. Find Shemaiah. Then perhaps a game afterward, something to distract me from the fact that my son isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

I hurry through my morning routine, braiding my hair, wondering if Shemaiah is up yet after last night’s party, anxious to find him.

As I make my way to the breakfast parlor, I peek through the open door of the tapestry gallery. It’s late morning, and the party ended hours ago, but the servants haven’t been in to clean the room yet. My slippers clack against the floor as I walk deeper into the room.

One of the tapestries near the door is ripped down the middle. A vase of flowers has been knocked over, wilted white blossoms spread across the parquet floor like a trail of fallen snow along with a woman’s bloomers and a pair of men’s socks. I stop when I see the length of a leather ribbon I recognize. The same kind of tie Shemaiah secured his hair with yesterday and every day before that. Who pulled it free?

Unbidden, an image comes to me of Shemaiah pressing a woman back against the wall, her hands in his hair, his body pushed against hers, his teeth in her neck, her skirts around her waist, his pants…

No. No, no, no.

I squeeze my eyes shut, and my hands curl into fists along my sides. Undesirable feelings crawl into my head like unwelcome guests. Anger. Hurt. Jealousy. Possession. None of which is warranted. Shemaiah is my friend. One I hope will help me find my son. Nothing more. Even if there was something between us last night. It wasn’t anything more than momentary lust. That’s all. My anger is inexcusable. I have no need to feel hurt. Shemaiah isn’t mine. And I don’t want him. I know being with a man above my station won’t lead anywhere. It’s a lesson I’ve learned before. I won’t open myself up to that kind of hurt again.

Movement catches my attention—a tapestry swaying rhythmically. Curious, I walk deeper into the room. My heart beats in time with the movement. It’s clear something illicit is happening when a woman moans.

I should turn around. It could be anyone, and I’m sure they won’t appreciate a voyeur. But I imagine Shemaiah’s face, and I can’t stop my forward movement through the room. Perhaps if I find him with someone else, it’ll cure me of my wayward thoughts once and for all. Yes, it’ll help me to know the stark reality. I need the reminder that love isn’t for me. That men like Shemaiah don’t fall for girls like me.

My palms sweat, and my heart pounds, but I peek around the jerking tapestry anyway and yelp in surprise.

Ruby’s inspector friend Lucy has her hands pressed against the wooden wainscoting, her head thrown back, while Jafeth grips her hips from behind. Her skirt is pulled up, and his pants are around his ankles as he pounds into her from behind, his legs flexing under the shirt draped down his backside, the tapestry bumping with each of his thrusts.

Jafeth meets my gaze and grins, maintaining his rhythm.

Lucy gasps and moans, unconscious of my presence, lost to her pleasure. “Yes. Oh god.”

“Not god. Say it right.”

“Jafeth.”

“Never forget it.” Jafeth smacks her ass for emphasis then focuses on me, still pounding into her with a devious smile. “Care to join us?”

I gasp, shocked, though heat floods through my veins.

Lucy’s eyes fly open, and she pales, yanking away, though she can’t go very far, smacking against the wall. She turns, scrambling to smooth down her skirts. With practiced composure, she swallows and glances at Jafeth, who hasn’t even tried to cover himself. With a blush, she nods at me and moves away, clearly intent on leaving.

Jafeth recovers from her sudden separation and grabs her arm. “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not done with you yet.”

“S-sorry.” I step back. “I… um… didn’t mean to…” My calf bumps a bench, causing me to fall down onto it.

“Thank you for assisting me with the case, Mr. Roan,” Lucy says primly, as if nothing just happened between them.

Jafeth scoffs, pushing her back against the wall. “Do you think I’m letting you leave before I’ve made you come?” He presses against her. “Do you think I’ll let you go that easily? No. I’m going to make you come so many times you finally unclench that stick up your ass.” He wraps her throat with his hand. “I’m going to fill that tight cunt so full, I’ll be dripping out of you for weeks.”

She smooths the strands of hair that have escaped her bun. “You presume too much.”

“Why?”

“You can’t even tell when a woman’s exaggerating her enjoyment.” She offers him a derisive glance, then ducks under his arm.

Jafeth blinks, clearly stunned. “What the fuck?”

“Good day, Mr. Roan.” Lucy picks up her skirts and marches past me without a second glance.

Jafeth stares after her with his mouth hanging open and his eyes as dark as night. It’s only then that I notice his pants are still down and his cock is jutting out like a flagpole.

I twist my head away, scramble to my feet, stutter something incoherent, and scurry out of the room.

I’m still out of breath when I enter the breakfast parlor, looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’m still dreaming. Was that real?