Darkness crowded my vision, arms dragging me through the hallway, the soft cushion of a sofa rising to meet me. Someone shoved a glass of wine in my hands.

“Drink, love,” Joseph whispered.

I shook my head, emerging from my fog. “Lyddy?” I asked. “Where is Lyddy?”

He sat down beside me, his arm moving back and forth down my neck. “Lady Christine is attending her. She is quite distraught, understandably.”

I stood up on shaky legs, staggering back, the wine glass threatening to slip from my fingers. Joseph caught it before it fell to the floor, steadying me with his wide hand. “Sit,” he commanded.

I slumped back on the cushions, and he slipped the glass of wine to my lips, tipping it ever so slightly. Snatching it from him, I downed the contents in big gulps, the rich liquid burning the back of my throat. When the glass emptied, I set it down on the table beside me and cradled my head in my hands. My skin was lined with cold sweat, clammy, my curls plastered to my forehead. Sharp tremors shook my shoulders, and I gritted my teeth, trying to still myself. As if reading my mind, Joseph nudged me, and I startled up, flashing him a relieved look as he placed another glass of wine in my hands. This was not the time to fall apart.

Ten seconds, Audrey…

I took a deep breath and sipped the wine, lolling it around in my mouth before taking a great swallow.

I played over the evening’s events in my mind. My father. Arrested for sedition. We had no money for lawyers. Whatever friends I had would abandon us lest they become embroiled in this terrible affair. I was sure Lady Aberthorne was practicing her speech to encourage me to take leave of her house. Christine would let me stay with her for a little while, but her reputation was already so damaged. How could I add “friend and patron to a family of rebels” to such a list of sins? And Joseph…

I glanced sideways, taking in his concerned stare, his eyes narrowed with rage. Anger. The man was in the prime of his life. His whole career before him. A career I would destroy.

“You should go,” I blurted out.

He blinked, shaking his head. “I will not leave you.”

“Joseph…” I looked down at my wineglass, studying the dregs of cork bits swimming in the last red drops. “This is sedition. Treason. I am ruined. I do not wish to ruin you too.”

His hand swept across my cheek, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “You have already ruined me, Audrey Byrnes. Ruined me for other women. For the touch of anyone else. Would you destroy me completely by forcing me to leave your side?”

My heart lurched, a stone lodging itself in my throat. “What am I going to do?”

He threw his arms around me and held me close to his chest. “We will figure out something. I promise.”

The door opened, and we sprang apart. Lady Aberthorne flew into the room with Lord Weston in her wake.

“Well, this is a rotten business,” she said. “A rotten business, indeed.”

I stood up, Joseph’s presence behind me infusing my limbs with steadiness. “My lady, I apologize for such a scene. I will, of course, leave your house as soon as I can collect my things.”

She whirled on me, the sequins in her gown glittering in the dim light of the fire. “Leave? Are you mad? You will stay right where you are.”

I shook my head, leaning forward as if I had not heard her correctly. “You mean for me to stay. After what happened?”

“If that boorish man thinks he can barge into my home, poison my husband, disrupt a private, a private…party!” She spit out the last word, and I wondered which, in her mind was the graver sin. “How dare him! No, Miss Byrnes. You will stay here. I will not show the man or any of the ton the Aberthornes are afraid of a little Irish play.”

“I…I don’t understand,” I said.

Lady Aberthorne quirked an eyebrow. “If you behave like a guilty person, then people will believe it so. Better for you, for all of us, if we act like the innocent party. Besides…”

The woman poured herself a glass of wine and raised it to the light, staring into the red depths. “Besides. It is not as if Lord Castlevane is completely innocent.”

Lord Weston snorted, throwing back a tumbler of brandy. “That is an understatement.”

My head swiveled between the pair as they exchanged knowing glances. I turned to Lord Weston.

“You know what Castlevane did to Lord Aberthorne?”

He nodded. “Our statesman has his fair share of miscreant deeds.”

My mind flashed back to Charles, and something must have registered on my face because Joseph’s hand slipped in mine, pulling me back to the sofa beside him.

“Fair share?” Joseph said. “What else do we have on the man?”

Weston threw his head back and laughed. “My goodness, man, love has brought you quite low.”

Joseph gritted his teeth, shooting daggers at the poet.

Weston raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies to the good doctor. I am merely surprised.”

“I tried to find Castlevane’s secrets, something I could use against him,” I said, “but he keeps everything locked tight.”

Weston and Lady Aberthorne exchanged another glance. The lady nodded, taking a long sip of her wine.

“Do you remember the night of the Gathering?” Weston said.

Heat blazed on my face, and I squirmed as a fluttering began in my lower belly. I recalled the way in which Joseph’s hands had slipped beneath my dress, how he had explored my body beneath his domino.

“Yes,” I choked out.

“Do you remember the climax of the evening?”

“The climax?” I kept my gaze steady, ignoring Joseph’s bouncing knee and the way he cleared his throat.

“The bull?” he said.

My mouth gaped open. “You mean…?”

Lady Aberthorne piped up in the corner. “Castlevane threatened me tonight. To reveal all. I say we strike first.”

I blinked, glancing at Joseph. His brown eyes were wide, but behind them the gears clicked into motion as he calculated how to trap Castlevane.

I turned back to her. “Strike first? Reveal his identity? But wouldn’t that damn us all?”

Her eyes flitted up to the ceiling. “Some of us are already damned.”

I shook my head, thinking of Joseph. Dr. Moorland. Respectable, smart, capable Dr. Moorland. “No. No, that’s not true. And forgive me, mum, even if such an attack would help you, I don’t see how it would get my father out of jail.”

Weston stood up and poured another drink. “If we ruin Castlevane, strip him of his credibility, none of the charges against your father will stick in court.”

“Right, but then there will be new charges,” I said. “Against us. All of us. Lewdness. Debauchery.”

“Not if the source remains anonymous.” Christine had slipped in the room, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. I knew that look, and nothing about it boded well.

“How is Lyddy?” I said.

“She is resting.” Christine swept past the fireplace and poured herself a glass of wine before taking her place at Weston’s side. “Poor girl had quite a shock.”

I rubbed my temples, saying a silent prayer that she wouldn’t do anything rash. Lyddy still didn’t know I knew she was the real author of The Rebel Sons, and I wanted to keep it that way. Father would keep her identity safe, and I doubt any of the players in the company would speak up about it.

“So are we going to ruin Castlevane or what?” Christine said, her eyes twinkling.

I sighed, scrubbing my face and turning to my friend. “What were you thinking?”

“Well…” Christine smiled, biting the edge of her lip while her eyes shifted to Weston before returning to my own. “I happen to know a poet who has spoken out quite vociferously about his new agenda in Parliament.”

My gaze turned to Weston. “You mean, you are the author of the Reaper Poems? Where death mocks Castlevane?”

He laughed and pointed at himself. “Me? Goodness no.”

He turned his adoring eyes to Christine.

My eyes widened, and I shook my head. “You? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She let out a giggle. “Tell my Irish friend I was writing seditious poetry, myself? Oh, my dear, you have enough problems.”

I took a long breath, studying Christine’s delicate nose, her full lips. It struck me how private the lives of women were, how much they hid from the world. Christine, Lyddy, even Lady Aberthorne—leader of the Gathering. My character Roisin had given me liberties to speak out, to sing, to dance, to play the rebel. But that was all it was. A performance. Without my green mantle, I would be another woman in the shadows, secretly parceling out my words and praying no one would ever catch me. My fingers traced the embroidered edge of the heavy green fabric, and I felt the impulse to tear it from my shoulders, wad it up, and throw it into the fire.

“Are you angry with me?” Christine asked in a small voice.

My head snapped up. “No. My darling friend, no. Those poems are brilliant. I’m merely mad for…for this world.”

My head pounded, and I took another sip of wine. Anger or no, I had to do something. I didn’t have much in my arsenal, but what I did have were words. So many words. A kingdom full of words.

“I think such a display calls for a satire,” Lady Aberthorne drawled, her eyes glittering. “Miss Byrnes can take him down that way. It shall be splendid.”

“Yes,” I said. “A poem…”

Christine raised her glass. “A poem!”

“About a bull.” A wide smile spread across my face. “A bull in a boudoir.”