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In Name Only

Rosie Zweet

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Rosie Zweet

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

First Edition: July, 2017

Author’s note: This work is only for ADULT.

All characters are 18+

** Individual pictured is model and used for illustrative purpose only


Lady Ava Knight

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Lady Ava Knight

1816 England.

The ball is a crush, and it is an easy thing to slip outside unnoticed.

So, here I am now, seeing Lady Isabella fiery hair and blazing green eyes. Suddenly, I know why my husband loves her so much. My pale blonde hair and greenish-blue eyes are pale in comparison with her unique, vibrant beauty.

“Are you saying that your marriage is a sham?” she asks incredulously.

I try my best not to flinch. “Yes, my lady, as much as I like to be called ‘your grace’ in the future. I don’t think it’s worth it,” I say as flippant as I can.

“I don’t care a whit about being a Duchess but… do you truly don’t care about James?” she asks still in disbelieve.

It is a valid and logical question I suppose. James Reynolds is a handsome man, a Marquis and soon to be a Duke when his dying father passed away.

“Of course, I will care if he doesn’t have you in his heart, my lady. He is handsome and has good breeding and manner. But his heart is not his own as you know it, and I have to admit that I have my own pride,” I say with a weak smile. That’s partly true.

“I though you just pretty chit with no spine, but you’re a bold one, it seems,” she says.

“Not as bold as you for sure,” I say.

People may call me the prettiest and wealthiest debutant who came out last year, but Lady Isabella’s brash and bold manner attract more suitors than I ever will be.

“Are you truly going to annul your marriage?” she asks, uncertain. For the first time I see hope and a hint of fear in her voice.

I nod. “I want children, my lady. And I think I won’t get one if I continue this marriage,” I say truthfully. “He loves you very much,” I add, trying my best to conceal the hurt in my voice.


The ride home is as awkward as always. It seems my talk to Lady Isabella changes nothing. My husband seems still resent me as always.

He sits still, brooding in the silent.

I still remember our wedding day. It was the happiest day in my life and the saddest one too. I thought he is willing to marry me.

In our brief courtship, he never showed any sign of otherwise. But I should have known that, for it is just an arranged married. But I hope…

Well, I was quiet vain, spoiled and had been adored by many suitors, and to think that there is a man who actually reject me was unthinkable back then.

And it hurts so much when he came to my room in our wedding night, just say that very thing. That he doesn’t desire me, he just fulfill his father dying wish.

He doesn’t say about Lady Isabella of course. He just said that there is unnamed lady who take a hold in his heart.

It is an easy thing to find out who the lady is. Ones have to just take look at their longing gaze and morose face.

I should have known.

But sadly, I didn’t, at least, until it is too late.

The carriage has stopped for a while, but we still sit still waiting. Shortly, the footman opens the door for us.

My husband as courteous as ever help me down from the carriage.

We walk together to the house but he stops me, just few feet from the door.

He looks at me with new expression I never seen before. His green eyes seem less cold and his face not as taut as usual.

“Thank you, my lady, I…” he says breaking the silent.

I squeeze his arm. “No need to thank me, my lord,” I say with forced smile. I hope it won’t come out awkward.

He nods and starts to walk again.

“Wait!” I say.

He turns around, looking at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I want you to be my model,” I blurt.


Days and weeks have passed.

I glance at my husband handsome face, it the dim light. It supposed to be spring time but sun still hiding under the cloud and the chill don’t want to go away.

As I work at the painting of my husband, I feel that we are getting closer.

“When I can see the result?” he asks from where he sits in the center of the room.

“Not yet, James,” I say as try my best to capture his lively auburn hair and sparkling green eyes.

“I feel that my neck will froze, forever like this—”

“Oh, please don’t be so dramatic,” I say with laugh.

“So let me take a peek, so, I know how it looks,” he says stubbornly.

“Fine,” I say, relented. “But don’t laugh,” I warn him.

“May I move now?” he asks.

“Yes, you may,” I say.

My heart is beating faster as he walks closer. I hope he will like my painting.

“What do you think?” I ask after a moment of silent. He looks at his likeliness with odd look.

Please say something…

Then, he smiles brilliantly.

“I didn’t know that I marry an artist,” he says, still smiling.

Oh, god, he shouldn’t smile like that. It makes me breathless and my heart beats harder. It has to be a sin to have beautiful smile like that.


Today is supposed to be a summer day but the sky is still gloomy.

A year without summer, people say.

I squeeze my husband hand as we see my father-in-law coffin lowered down to the earth. His death is expected. He was too ill these last few months.

One by one, the mourners go. And the sky is getting darker now.

“Do you think he will forgive us?” James asks when only us left.

“He will understand,” I say.

“Do you think so?” he asks with sad eyes.

I know he loved his father.

I nod. “I’m sure he will. He wants us to be happy, of that, I am sure,” I say with confident I don’t really feel.

But James seems to accept that.

“Thank you,” he says as the rain comes down, yet we stay there still, deep in our own sorrow.

I feel his strong hand squeeze mine as we stand under the rain.


These last few days rain falls heavily. Its sound makes me even sadder and lonelier.

I lie alone in my bed, thinking, plotting what should I do next.

My husband seems can’t get over his guilt. He has been drunk since his father passed away, a week ago.

My usual tricks seem can’t get him out of his dark mood. I know it is not my place to care, for I am nothing to him. I just some short of partner in crime.

I am not sure if I can call myself his friend. My feeling for his in not that of mere friend, I know that. Even it is hard to admit and embarrassing to boot. I think I develop a tender for him.

I sigh heavily. It seems I have to push forward my journey to America. It is not supposed to happen at least until the annulment is final.

But it seems harder day by day to stay here, pretending to feel nothing.

You’re a coward. The voice inside me says. Maybe I am, but I know I am facing a losing battle. And I am not that foolish. I know when to back down.

I jump as I hear the loud crash from my husband’s room. It breaks my morose thought.

What was that?

Swiftly, I wake up and go to his room.

In his dim room, I see my husband crouches on the floor with broken glass, and I smell strong liquor.

He drunk again.

I kneel beside him. “James, stop it,” I say, trying to help him to stand but he is just too heavy.

“Oh… my… my beautiful wife is… is here,” he slurs.

“You’re drunk,” I say while trying my hardest to get him up. “Let’s go to the bed.”

“Bed?” he laughs loudly. “Yes… yes… we shall.”

He chuckles at his own joke as we walk to the bed.

I toss him to the bed. Then, I lean down and say, “Now, sleep—”

Suddenly, he tugs me closer and steals a brief kiss. Then, he chuckles again.

“You’re drunk,” I chide him.

“No, I’m not,” he says, seeming a little bit sober. I see his eyes cleared for a moment. Only a moment before it is darken.

In flash, he rolls me to my back.


He cuts me with a kiss. But this one feels different. He brushes his lips to mine harder and faster. He kisses me like a starving man.

My heart is beating so painfully. I try my hardest to stay still, not answering his kiss, but I fail. Tentatively, I move my lips.

I’ve waiting for this for so long.

He growls his pleasure. Then, I feel his tongue licks the seam of my lips.

I moan. And swiftly, his tongue comes inside, seeking mine.

Oh, god. I should stop him.

But my brain stops working when I feel his hand on my breast, kneading my rounded globe gently.

He stops kissing my lips and move down to my jaw, then to my neck, and then he takes my clothed nipple into his mouth, suckling me, damping my sheer nightgown.

His suckling mouth send shiver to my body and stoke the fire inside my belly.

Suddenly, he yanks, ripping my clothes.

I glance up to his face and I see lust burning his green eyes.

My breath stops for a moment and my heart is beating painfully.

“James?” I whisper.

He growls before his mouth back to my nipple, suckling me harder.

I arch my back, clutching his hair, guiding him, feeding him more.

“Oh, James,” I moan.

My womanhood feels wet and hot. I need him there.

As if he can hear me. He picks my undulated hip, and grinds it to his hardness.

“Ahhh…” he moans. “I can’t take it anymore,” he pants.

Then, he releases his hold to open his breeches.

I should stop him. He will regret this in the morning.

Or maybe he won’t remember, say the devil inside me.

He leans down and kissing my lips again, chasing away my conscience.

I have been a good wife and friend for these last few months. I deserve consolation. I know I can’t have his heart but I can have his body tonight.

“Ohhh…” I moan as I feel his manhood parting my slit. It feels so big but I am so slick and ready.

This is a gift I can’t refuse.

I buck my hip to make him spear me deeper. But he stops, “You’re so damn tight,” he mutters.

I put my arm in his neck, drawing him closer, kissing him with all my pent-up passion.

I want this day to never end.

His hip jerks hard and I feel he tears my inside. But I don’t feel any pain, just a little discomfort.

I feel so full. I move my hip to test the feel, and it draws moan in his lips.

He draws back from our kiss. “Are you oka—“

But I cut him with another kiss. Then we lost…

He moves his hip fast, sliding in and out my slick cave, pounding me hard.

“Yes, harder… faster,” I moan, encouraging him.

He growls and does as I command. He pounds me fast and hard, plowing in and out me.

It feels so good. We dance this ancient dance fast and faster, he impales me again and again, stretching me wide, drawing pleasure in my body. Bring me to the high I never know before.

Finally, I can’t stand it. I cry as my climax hits me hard.

He grunts as his hip jerks, and jerks, filling me with his seed.

For several moments, our ragged breaths fill the silent room.

I feel his harsh breath above me. “Thank you,” he says before he collapses, crushing my body.

“James,” I say, gingerly I poke his body.

Then, I hear he snores low.

For a while I stay still, feeling his heavy self.

I know he will regret comes morning, but I don’t think I will. I hope he will forget, though. Yes, he should forget it.

Slowly, I move his body.

I glance down, looking at his manhood that impaled me moments ago. I feel my cheeks grow warm. Swiftly, I tuck it back in and rearrange his clothes.

He won’t remember. I convince myself.

I lean down, looking at his handsome face. Then, I kiss his kiss lips briefly. I know it will be the last time I will kiss him like this, like a woman kisses her husband.

“Forgive me,” I say softly, fighting the sting in my eyes.


I hear the door creaks open.

Without looking back, I say, “Bring it back Molly. I’m not hungry.”

I will just throw it up again anyway. I know it is the time to admit the truth that I am with child.

I sigh heavily. These last few weeks I am between hope and not. Sometimes, I wish my husband will remember his drunken mistake but he doesn’t, of course. I think that for the better.

“It’s not Molly,” my husband says.

Swiftly, I turn my back. “James, you shouldn’t—”

“Yes, I should. Are you sure, no need to call Dr. Morison?” he asks. I can see a genuine concern in his green eyes.

“No need, James. I just nervous, you know, I never been to America before. I never sail that far,” I say weakly.

He sighs softly. “With your health, I think it’s not wise to go now.”

“I’m fine truly. Besides, I don’t want to be here when we announce the annulment,” I say.

“I can postpone it, if you want,” he says.

“Oh, no, you can’t,” I say fast. “You’ve wait a long enough. Lady Isabella won’t wait you forever, you know,” I say jokingly.

He draws near, and sits on the edge of my bed. “Are you truly fine?” he asks as he takes my hand in his.

I nod. “I have passion in painting as you know it. I truly want to go and see the new world. I heard that the land is so wild and beautiful there,” I lie. It is not the real reason I want to go.

“Yes, I know that,” he says with weak smile. “I happen to like your painting,” he adds.

I know he is talking about his own painting, hanging in the hall. He shows it proudly to whoever wants to see, shamelessly at that.

“Then I shall send many pictures of America to you. A lot of it until you got bored,” I say with smile. I hope it is a happy one not comes out as sad smile.

He looks at me with tender eyes as if he wants to say something but in the end he just wishes me a splendid journey.


I am a lady, I am used to hide all emotion inside. But it is so hard to keep smiling when I have to say goodbye to the man I love.

Yes, I love him. I know it is foolish thing to do. But I am done fooling myself. Besides, ones can’t choose who to love, isn’t it?

For the last time, I memorize his handsome face as the ship draws further, leaving England.

I know this will the last time I see him. Despite, my promise to come back I don’t think I have the strength. Seeing him happy with other woman surely will break my heart.

The land is getting smaller, and finally I can’t see him anymore. I turn my back from the railing. I feel my tear is rolling down freely to my cheeks.

I put my hand to my belly, stroking it gently. I have his gift at least.

I smile sadly. Yes, I will be happy. I will raise it well.

Molly, my maid, puts a handkerchief in my hand.

Her warm gesture tugs my heart. And I also have a friend with me.

“Thanks, Molly,” I say as I dab my eyes and cheeks, erasing the tears.

“Why you don’t tell him, m’lady?” she asks softly.

My eyes widened. “You know?” I ask incredulously.

“Of course, a good maid knows such thing,” she says, seeming a little bit insulted that I presume otherwise.

“Well… I won’t stand in his happiness. You know that he loves another, don’t you?” I say with heavy sigh.

“I don’t think so. Sometimes, I don’t understand the toffs. Both of you smitten alright—”

“No, we don’t,” I cut her.

She looks at me pityingly. “If you say so, m’lady.”

I can’t blame Molly. She doesn’t know, but I am.

Love can’t be forced. And it is best to admit defeat and seeks consolation in another place.

I glance down to my flat belly.

At least, I have you.

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Miss Jane #1

1816 Colchester, England.

I have been staying at Colonel Zack Radley home for a week, but today is the first time he summons me. I wonder why. My heart is racing madly as I hear the sound of his deep voice, telling me to come inside to his study.

I hesitate a little in the threshold but I steel myself and open the door. The colonel is in his mid-fifty, the same age as my deceased father. But by looking at his tall, lean frame and thick greying hair, he still can pass as a man in his forty.

“Have a seat, my dear,” he says softly, looking at me with his kind grey eyes. The way he says it makes me remember my recently departed father. And I feel sting in my eyes.

“How old are you, Girl?” he asks me just after I take my seat in front of him.

“I turn eighteen two months ago, Sir,” I say. I am just one year older than his eldest daughter Miss Ophelia Radley.

“I see,” he says calmly. “That’s make a matter bit complicated,” he stops and drawing deep breath. “When I agreed to take care of you, I thought you’re no older than Bella,” he adds.

I feel hurt at his admission. Bella is just ten years old and I am sure when we meet two years ago, in the continent, I already look old enough to wed.

Oh Papa, why you’ve to die. I really miss my father now.

Maybe he sees the hurt in my eyes. “But I promised your father that I’ll care for you, Girl,” he says reassuring.

Papa told me before he died in Spain that the good Colonel will be my guardian. He owes my father his life. But many people owe my father their life, for he was a doctor of British army in the continent.

“It’s just not proper for young lady like yourself live under a widower house,” he says. “People are talking, gossiping now,” he adds in angry tone.

“I understand if you want me to leave, Sir,” I say while keep myself from bawling. I don’t know where to go.

My father is disowned son of a viscount. But they had severed the tie years ago, long before I was born. It is when my father decided to be a doctor against his lord father command.

“Oh no, no, dear girl. I don’t ask you to leave. Never fear of that,” he leans forward, clasping my hand reassuring. “It just you need to wed soon,” he says.

“Wed, Sir?” I ask with squeak.

“Yes, Girl. It’s a perfect solution, isn’t it?” he asks, beaming with wide smile.

“But… but… who will wed me, Sir?” I ask, uncertain and fidgeting in my seat.

“Who? I will, of course, silly girl,” he says.

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