The Rose

  Bestselling author Tiffany Reisz returns with an imaginative tale of lust and magic, and the dangers unleashed when the two are combined...

  On the day of Lia’s university graduation party, her parents—wealthy art collectors with friends in high places—gift her a beautiful wine cup, a rare artifact decorated with roses. It’s a stunning gift, and one that August Bowman, a friend of her parents and a guest at Lia’s party, also has his eye on. The cup, August tells her, is known as the Rose Kylix, and it’s no ordinary cup. It was used in the temple ceremonies of Eros, Greek god of erotic love, and has the power to bring the most intimate sexual fantasies to life.

  But Lia is skeptical of August’s claims of the cup’s mythology and magic—after all, he’s a collector himself, and she suspects he just wants to get his hands on this impressive piece of art. So he dares her to try it for herself, and when Lia drinks from the Rose Kylix she is suddenly immersed in an erotic myth so vivid it seems real—as though she’s living out the most sensual fantasy with August by her side...

  Realizing the true power of this ancient and dangerous relic, Lia is even more wary of giving it up, though August insists it is only safe with him. He’s willing to pay the full value of the cup, but Lia has another type of trade in mind. One that finds them more tangled up in each other—and in fantasy—than either was prepared for.

  Praise for the novels of Tiffany Reisz

  “One of the best I’ve read lately.... The Lucky Ones is a masterful, darkly themed thriller with heart.”

  —Susanna Kearsley, New York Times bestselling author

  “Part mystery, part gothic suspense.... An atmospheric and provocative tale of love, lies, and the secrets a family keeps. The Lucky Ones is masterfully crafted. I highly recommend.”

  —Kerry Lonsdale, Wall Street Journal bestselling author

  “Tiffany Reisz reinvents gothic suspense for the present with this unforgettable story about a family with secrets more dangerous than dragons.”

  —Gwenda Bond, author of Girl in the Shadows, on The Lucky Ones

  “You will find yourself falling in love with every character... [Y]ou’ll wait with bated breath just to see in which direction the author will turn; and at the end you’ll find yourself not being able to go a minute without thinking of the journey and glorious storytelling of Tiffany Reisz.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Night Mark, Top Pick!

  “This time-travel romance is swoon-worthy and lovely. Reisz is a powerful writer who hits all the high romance you can ask for, while creating a fascinating yet believable plot that makes us believe that love can conquer all, even time and death.”

  —Kirkus Reviews on The Night Mark

  “A dark, twisty tale of love, lust, betrayal, and murder...this novel is not one to be missed.”

  —Bustle on The Night Mark

  “[Reisz’s] prose is quite beautiful, and she can weave a wonderful tight story.”

  —New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Jennifer Probst

  “Reisz fills the narrative with rich historic details; memorable, if vile, characters; and enough surprises to keep the plot moving and readers hooked until the final drop of bourbon is spilled.”

  —Booklist on The Bourbon Thief

  “Beautifully written and delightfully insane.... Reisz vividly captures the American South with a brutal honestly that only enhances the dark material.”

  —RT Book Reviews on The Bourbon Thief, Top Pick!

  Also by Tiffany Reisz

  THE LUCKY ONES

  THE NIGHT MARK

  THE BOURBON THIEF

  The Original Sinners series

  The White Years

  *

  THE QUEEN

  THE VIRGIN

  THE KING

  THE SAINT

  The Red Years

  *

  THE MISTRESS

  THE PRINCE

  THE ANGEL

  THE SIREN

  THE ROSE

  TIFFANY REISZ

  For Mary Renault, who put me on a ship with Theseus

  and showed me how to sail into unknown waters.

  Contents

  QUOTE

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PART FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  PART FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  PART SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  PART SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  PART EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Come, Erato, come lovely Muse, stand by me and take up the tale...

  —Apollonius of Rhodes

  PART ONE

  Aphrodite & the Rose

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lady Ophelia Anne Fitzroy Godwick—Lia to her friends—called the emergency meeting of the Young Ladies’ Gardening & Tennis Club of Wingthorn Hall to order.

  “If I could have your attention, please,” Lia said to the three young ladies in her bedroom. “We might have a problem here.”

  “No alcohol at this meeting,” Georgy muttered as she scrolled through her phone. “That’s a massive problem.”

  “I’m not joking,” Lia said.

  She met their eyes, one by one, so they could see she was serious.

  Georgy—blonde, buxom and wearing strapless yellow tulle—sat prettily in Lia’s armchair. Rani, brown-skinned, dark-eyed, tall and slender, lay in her red satin best across Lia’s bed. Jane, the bookish brunette with secret talents hidden behind cat-eye glasses, leaned against Lia’s bedpost in off-the-shoulder ivory.

  Lia, in a vintage party dress of palest rose pink, stood with her back to the fireplace facing all three of them—a general addressing her troops, a knitting needle in her hand in lieu of a swagger stick.

  “What’s the problem, boss?” Rani asked.

  “Fourteen,” Lia said. “The three of you and fourteen of them.”

  Rani’s eyes widened.

  “Fourteen of our clients are coming?” she repeated.

  That got the ladies’ attention. For the Young Ladies’ Gardening & Tennis Club of Wingthorn Hall was not a gardening club, and they didn’t play much tennis, either. The YLG&T Club was, in fact, an escort agency.

  “Which ones?” Jane asked.

  Lia quickly rattled off their names, ranks and identifying proclivities.

  Georgy tucked her iPhone into the bodice of her gown, muttering, “If Sir
Trevor tries to lick my feet during dinner, I’m not going to be happy.”

  “Nobody is licking anybody’s feet at dinner,” Lia said. “Except maybe Gogo.”

  Her dog, an enormous gray deerhound who looked perpetually confused, raised his head at the sound of his name.

  “Go back to sleep, boy.” Obedient to his mistress, he laid his long face down onto his paws and closed his eyes. “As I was saying, we have clients coming here tonight so we need to be on our best behavior. When you go downstairs, just remember, this is my graduation party, not an orgy. And this is Wingthorn Hall, not a brothel.”

  “Could have fooled me,” Georgy said. Lia ignored her.

  “Not only are fourteen clients coming here...so are their wives. Thus, you’ve never met these men before, right? When you do ‘meet’ them, be polite and then disengage quickly. Feel free to fake food poisoning and run for it. Stick together. Don’t post any pictures online. And whatever you do—” and here Lia paused to look directly into Georgy’s eyes “—do not flirt with anyone.”

  “What?” Georgy sat up straighter. “No flirting? You mean, at all?”

  “At. All.” Lia punctuated those two syllables by slapping her palm with the knitting needle.

  “But, boss, what if he’s really handsome?” Georgy asked.

  Lia shook her head.

  “What if he’s literally the most handsome man in the world?” Rani asked. “And rich.”

  “Flirting is banned until further notice.”

  “What if,” Jane said, “he’s handsome, rich and DTFMEL?”

  “DTFMEL?” Lia knew the DTF. She wasn’t sure about the MEL.

  “Down to Fund My Extravagant Lifestyle,” Rani translated.

  Lia considered that. After all, while she handled the appointments and the money in the YLG&T Club, she didn’t own the ladies. And this was the job. She could hardly begrudge them for making a living.

  “We’ll take it on a case-by-case basis,” she said. “All I want is to get through tonight without ending up in the back of a police car or on the front page of the Sun.”

  Earl’s Daughter in the Streets, Madam in the Sheets: The Scandal of the Century...

  She could see the headlines now. And the think pieces on women and sex work. And the tweets.

  Oh God, not the tweets.

  “All right, boss,” Jane said with a jaunty salute. “We’ll behave. Promise.”

  “Another thing—let’s drop the ‘boss.’ I’m Lia. I’m your friend. I am not, I repeat, not your boss. Right?” She grinned and nodded. “Yes? Agree with me, please.”

  “Right, boss,” Georgy said. Smart-arse.

  “I hear prison isn’t all that bad these days,” Lia said. “I’ll catch up on my knitting.”

  Unless they didn’t allow knitting needles behind bars.

  “Why didn’t you tell your parents ‘no party’?” Rani asked. A fair question.

  “Trust me, I did. They are, unfortunately, proud of me and couldn’t be stopped. I asked them not to invite anyone except family. Also didn’t work. I asked them for no gifts. I’m guessing there’s a table covered in gifts down there.” Which would all be going to a charity shop tomorrow, if Lia had her way.

  “Loads of them,” Georgy said. “How awful.”

  Rani met Lia’s eyes. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” Lia wanted to believe Rani. “Nothing’s going to happen tonight. They’re more scared of us than we are of them.”

  Lia nodded. However...she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something bad, very bad, was going to happen tonight. She didn’t tell her “young ladies” that. Once they’d been her friends but now they worked for her, and she couldn’t have them seeing her rattled for no good reason.

  Or was there a good reason?

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Lia said, faking a smile. “Now... Escorts dismissed.”

  “Come on, birdies,” said Georgy as she rose from the armchair. “Time to face the music.”

  The three of them filed out of Lia’s bedroom. Gogo attempted to follow them.

  “Not you, boy. Unless there’s something you need to tell me,” Lia said.

  Gogo trotted back to his dog bed.

  Once she was again alone in her room, Lia’s shoulders sagged. She put her hands to her face and breathed through her fingers. If she had a time machine or even a friendly neighborhood wormhole, she’d hop into it in an instant and go back about three years ago to the night when she’d had the bright idea of starting an escort agency with her friends. She’d find herself, grab herself by the arms and tell herself, “Lia, pet, you’re going to regret that...”

  Would she have taken her own advice? Probably not.

  Lia knew she needed to go downstairs. Guests were arriving already, and she couldn’t play the fashionably late game forever. Still, she didn’t leave her bedroom. She paced her floor, trying to calm her nerves.

  As she passed her fireplace mantel, she laid eyes on a statue, a marble Aphrodite Anadyomene that had once belonged to her great-grandfather Malcolm, the thirteenth Earl of Godwick. According to family legend, her notorious rake of a great-grandfather had worshipped Aphrodite, goddess of romantic love and passion—“the one deity I have any respect for,” he’d said. Fitting, then, that Lia had this particular goddess on her mantel. Aphrodite was probably the only deity around who’d answer the prayers of a frazzled madam.

  Although she hadn’t said a prayer to Aphrodite in years, Lia decided to give it a go. She doubted it would help but it certainly couldn’t hurt, could it? She found her sewing scissors on her dressing table and took a candle from the candle box by the grate.

  Lia lit the candle and, with the little scissors, she cut one gingerbread-colored curl from her hair. As her hair caught in the flame and burned, she whispered, “Aphrodite, goddess of love, lust and badly behaved women, please protect your daughters tonight—Georgy, Jane and Rani. And me, too, I suppose, if you don’t mind.”

  Then Lia added, “If you run into my great-grandfather Malcolm in the afterworld, please tell him he’s a bad influence.”

  She blew out the candle and found that she felt a little better. At least she could say she did all she could. Outside she heard the beginnings of a fierce rainstorm. Odd. Rain hadn’t been in the forecast. Lia glanced at the lovely and placid countenance of Aphrodite on her mantel.

  “Your doing?” she asked with a smile. Of course Aphrodite did not answer. Lia left her bedroom. If luck or Aphrodite were on her side tonight and that rain kept up, the house might flood and then the party would be canceled.

  A madam could hope.

  CHAPTER TWO

  As soon as Lia left her suite, she heard voices, laughter, the clinking of champagne flutes and the clicking of high heels on marble floors. She descended the curving main staircase to the entryway of Wingthorn Hall, the ancestral home of the earls of Godwick. Her mother, Mona, the Countess of Godwick, stood by the door, resplendent in a strapless evening gown as scarlet as her reputation.

  She grinned broadly as Lia came to stand at her side for door duty.

  “You look beautiful, darling.” Her smile turned quickly to a scowl. “When did you get so old?”

  “I’m twenty-one, Mother.”

  “Impossible,” the countess said. “I’m thirty.”

  “You’re for—”

  Her mother raised her hand to silence her. “We do not say the F word in this house.”

  The F word was forty. Lia’s mother was the F word plus seven.

  “Sorry.”

  Thunder rumbled outside. The ancient windows shivered. Temporary “footmen” waited at the door, armed with black umbrellas to shield the arriving guests.

  “Maybe we should cancel the party,” Lia said. “For safety reasons.”

  The safety of her sanity.

  “Too late for t
hat,” her mother said. “Here we go again.”

  The grand oak front doors of Wingthorn yawned open. A man entered. Lia couldn’t see who he was at first, as his face was hidden behind an umbrella held by a footman. The footman lowered the umbrella, and Lia had one thought at the first sight of the man.

  Oh no.

  The man, whoever he was, wore a dark blue three-piece suit that perfectly complemented his olive-brown skin. The umbrella had gotten to him a second too late. His hair was rain-damp, dark and curling. His age? Lia guessed thirty, thirty-three tops. Too young to be friends with her parents, too old to be friends with her.

  Whoever he was, Lia knew she’d never seen him before. Yet when he looked at her, it seemed he knew her. He gave her the slightest little winking smile as her father shook his hand.

  That wink. That smile. Pure mischief. It made Lia’s toes clench in her shoes. She ordered her toes to unclench, which they did, but under protest.

  “Blink, child,” her mother whispered, “before your eyes dry out.”

  “Who is he?” Lia asked, blinking.

  “Has to be Augustine Bowman.”

  “What’s the gossip?” Lia had to know all about him at once and even immediately. Stat.

  “Supposedly his mother’s a famous Greek beauty. His father is military or something. Divides his time between London and Athens. He’s been buying up ancient artifacts and taking them home to Greece.”

  Lia watched her father, Spencer, the fifteenth Earl of Godwick, chatting with Augustine Bowman, no doubt talking of important manly things like football, old Scotch and how very grand it was to go through life with a penis. Mr. Bowman was nearly as tall as her very tall father, but broader in the chest and shoulders. She bet he had good legs, too, like a football player. She needed to find something about him to loathe and quickly, or she’d be staring at him all night.

  “Do you think he beats his servants?” Lia asked.

  “If they ask him nicely enough.”

  “Mother.”

  “You should show him the tapestry you’re working on, dear,” her mother, eternal matchmaker, said. “I hear he loves Greek mythology as much as you do.”