Jade Swift has always wanted a man to fall madly in love with him and make him his own. He wants to be mastered by a man who adores him. When he meets Marcus Wynterbourne, an older, wealthy, dominant man with a passion for the whip, it is love at first sight.
Marcus is a politician who is homosexual in a time when men like him could go to prison for two years of hard labour. He is trying to live as freely as he can in 1885 when his sexuality is not tolerated, and his association with the beautiful Jade leads to rampant speculation. Hurt by a past betrayal, and unable to accept Jade's loyalty because of his flirtatious nature, Marcus casts Jade out of his house.
The young man loves his Master and wants only to please him. He wants to return to his Master’s protection and to the circle of disciplined love he has built around himself in his Master’s mansion. Jade is determined he will do what he must to win his Master's trust and restore his Master’s reputation amongst those who would ruin him, Jade uses his wiles his to teach the men who would betray his Master a lesson they would not forget.
At length I was shown into a sunny morning room where a man stood at the window with his back to the room, ignoring me. I remained standing in the middle of the carpet until he deigned to turn around.
When at last he did, the sight of him captured my breath as I had fantasized it would. As he approached me, I observed a man nearly as slender as myself, though far taller and more masculine. He had dark hair beginning to be streaked with silver, intense, dark grey eyes, and a frenetic presence. I stepped back, afraid for a moment he would grab me to examine me more closely. Instead he pulled a letter from the pocket of his black wool jacket and held it at arm’s length to read it.
“James Swift,” he pronounced. “Eighteen years old, well read, handwriting excellent.”
“Jade,” I corrected. “Sir, my name is Jade Swift.”
He laughed, an almost frightening sound, then stopped abruptly. “Jade, my mother changed your name. She wants you to be James while you work for me.” He looked me up and down, a teasing smile playing about his mouth.
“Well, I won’t be,” I said petulantly. I’d had quite enough. I was starved on my arrival, called a nancy by Archie, and then tormented in the kitchen by the male staff. I was fit to burst into tears. “My name is Jade. I insist upon it.” My heart fluttered as I spoke.
“Do you?” He stepped closer, looking down at me. He really was a very tall man.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered, not quite so sure of myself now I could feel his breath against my cheek. He smelled wonderful: nothing fancy, just expensive, masculine soap and a splash of Bay Rum. He was clean-shaven in a time when whiskers on a man were all the rage. I could not admit him handsome with his strong jaw and thin face. In fact, he was a bit scary looking. However, it would not be a lie to call him attractive.
“Jade,” he said as if mocking me. “I’m writing a book, and you will take dictation and fetch any books I require for research, though most of my writing is a memoir of my extensive travels. I also do a good deal of letter writing. Go to my office at the end of the hall and wait there for me.”
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
As I trotted down the carpeted hall, I felt a violent excitement in my stomach. Love at first sight is what they call it, and a romantic boy like myself had passed many a happy hour envisioning such an event. I had felt attraction at first sight so many times it did not bear scrutiny. Indeed there were times when a wink from a pretty boy or handsome man was sufficient to have me following him like a puppy into the first dark corner available. But this weakness of the stomach and unfathomable desire were new to me.
Several minutes later, he entered the room. I had been sitting on a straight-backed chair by the window, and I leapt to my feet at his entrance. He held my gaze for a long moment before pointing at a small desk, really nothing more than an escritoire, on which paper, pen, and ink were laid out. I scurried to the desk, sat down, dipped my pen, and waited.
Without pause, Mr. Wynterbourne began to dictate. For the rest of the morning, I sat scratching away at my work while he marched up and down the room, speaking into the air, hands clasped behind his back, never looking at me.
I was too nervous to look up at him.
But fortified by luncheon, which I ate with the servants once again, I felt emboldened to risk several long glances at him during the afternoon. At my first wary look at him that morning, I had found him a bit frightening, and my perusal now confirmed that. His swift movements and intense gaze brought to mind that terrifying story The Vampyre by John Polidori, which I had read the previous winter and which had me clinging to Mama each night in bed for a full week.
At six o’clock, he came to an abrupt stop beside my desk. I caught my breath at his proximity, smelling again the scent of his Bay Rum. If I’d had any hair on the back of my neck, I’m sure it would have risen. I looked up into his dark, intense eyes. He seemed to be waiting for something yet not speaking. I bit my lip, wondering what he wanted and how to please him. I thought I had better stand, so I rose to my feet. At once I saw a slight easing of the tension about his mouth.
