☆ ᴡᴀᴛᴛʏꜱ 2024 SHORTLISTER!! ☆
A tragic misunderstanding. A murder. A secret. An unlikely partnership. A spirited countess and an enterprising racketeer.
~~~
Manchester, England. May 1925.
The Roarin' 20s. An era of glamor, decadent parties, jazz mus...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The pressure of Daphne's palm against his chest sobered Liam. He knew, with the right touch and a few whispered words, he could crumble her resolve and take her to bed, despite her devotion to Rose. Seduction, and his ability to seduce, were never the problem. In this instance, Rose was the problem. Even in her absence, Rose created a far stronger barrier than Daphne's trembling hand or breathless refusal.
They wore the same perfume, Daphne and Rose. When he had closed his eyes and breathed in Daphne's scent along the curve of her smooth neck, it was Rose he'd seen in his mind.
But it was Daphne before him, a conflicted look in her eyes, like she was both frightened of and craving him to ignore her rationale and continue in his physical cajolery.
With a gentle touch, Liam reached up and stroked Daphne's cheek with the backs of his fingers. “You're right, love,” he relented, his volume low. “Hurting Rose, more than I already have...it's the last thing I want.”
He let his hand fall to his side and took a definitive step back, allowing Daphne room to breathe.
A look of relief took over her features, and she twisted away from the counter, as though concerned he'd trap her again if given the chance. “Imagine that,” she said, expelling a chuckle that sounded a bit forced. “Another thing we have in common.”
He let out a soft chuckle, as well. “Still ain't opposed to spendin' a few hours in your bed,” he joked.
“Yes, you are.” Daphne sighed and shook her head. “You don't want me, William. You want Rose. Don't try to deny it. Likewise, it isn't physical release I want, it's forgiveness. The two seemingly have much in common in the heat of the moment, but then…”
“...In the cold light of day they're entirely different,” Liam supplied, his mouth turning down in a grim line. That was a truth with which he was well acquainted. “Aye. I know.”
“Yes, I'm sure you do.”
They stood together in silence for several pregnant seconds, eyes averted, brows furrowed in thought.
Liam surprised himself by speaking first. “You're an incredibly strong, capable woman, Daphne. Had we met under different circumstances, we mighta been friends. You're clever and resourceful — traits I respect in my allies. Come Hell or high water, you're gonna be alright.”
She looked up at him, a combination of gratitude and dismay in her eyes. “I appreciate you saying that,” she told him. “I do. But I simply cannot imagine a life of any quality whatsoever without Rose. She means too much to me. This rift between us must be bridged if I'm to ever be happy again.”
It was odd — inconceivable even, as he'd only known Rose a short time — but Liam understood exactly how Daphne felt. The void in his chest seemed to swell. “You know Rose, Daphne,” he said. “Better than anyone, I'd wager. So, ya already know that she wants to forgive you. She just needs you to initiate the interaction.”
