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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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Also By Rosie Zweet


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… are you saying, 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 a 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 thought 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. Lady Isabella is famous for her straightforward and bold manner.

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 would.

“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 carriage moves slowly through the night. The ride home is as awkward as always. It seems my talk to Lady Isabella changes nothing. My husband sits still, brooding in the silent. He seems still resent me as always.

I want to scream that it is not my fault. I am as much a victim like him. I still remember our wedding day. It was the happiest day in my life, but soon it became the saddest one.

I thought he was willing to marry me. In our brief courtship, he never showed any sign of otherwise. But I should have known that, for it was just an arranged married. But I hope…

Maybe, I was quite vain back then. I always had been a belle of the ball. I was spoiled and had been adored by many suitors, and to think that there is a man who actually rejects me was unthinkable.

And it hurt so much when he came to my room on our wedding night, saying that he didn’t want me. That he doesn’t desire me. And he only marries me to fulfill his father’s dying wish. It took all my strength to keep my composure and not cried. Until this day, I am still wondering how I could manage that feat.

That night, he didn’t say about Lady Isabella of course. He just said that there is an unnamed lady who takes a hold in his heart.

But 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 was too late.

With a sudden jolt, the carriage stops. For a while, we 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 a few feet from the door.

He looks at me with an odd expression I’ve never seen before. His green eyes seem less cold and his face not as bleak as usual.

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

I squeeze his arm. “No need to thank me, my lord,” I say with a 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.

My heart beats fast. “I want you to be my model,” I blurt.


Days and weeks have passed.

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

As I work on his painting, I feel that we are getting closer.

“When will I 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 freeze, forever like this—”

“Oh, please don’t be so dramatic,” I say with a 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 likes my painting. Oddly, his approval is matter to me.

“What do you think?” I ask after a moment of silence. He looks at his likeliness with a serious face.

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 beating harder. It has to be a sin to have a beautiful smile like that.


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

A year without summer, people say. The sky is gray, gloom without color.

I squeeze my husband hand as we see my father-in-law’s coffin lowered down to the earth. His death is not unexpected. He was too ill these last few months. But it still feels sad to actually lose him.

One by one, the mourners go. And the sky is getting darker now. The wind gushes bringing the chill.

Rain is going to fall soon.

“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 a confidence I don’t really feel.

But James seems to accept that. He seems to believe me. Or just want to desperately want to.

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

I feel his strong hand squeezes 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 sort of partner in crime.

I am not sure if I can call myself his friend. My feeling for him is not that of a 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. I have to push forward my journey to America. It is not supposed to happen at least until the annulment is final.

But it is harder day by day to stay here, pretending to feel nothing, to stand by him as a mere friend.

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, breaking 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… mymy 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… yeswe shall.”

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

I toss him to the bed. He is just so heavy. Then, I lean down, giving him a blanket and pillow. “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. He lifts his hand, tucking my errant strand behind my ear. I see his eyes cleared for a moment. Only a moment before it darkens again.

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. But his soft insistent lips feel too much.

I’ve waiting for this for so long.

Tentatively, I move my lips. He growls his pleasure. Then, I feel his tongue licks the seam of my lips before he plunders and taking me captive.

I moan. And swiftly, his tongue comes inside, seeking mine, brushing and coaxing me.

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 moves down to my jaw, then to my neck, and then he takes my clothed nipple into his mouth. He sucks me gently at first, damping my sheer nightgown.

His suckling mouth sends a shiver to my body and stokes 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. We are stilled for a moment, panting hard.

“James?” I whisper, breaking the silence.

He puts his forehead on mine, still breathing hard.

Then, I feel his thumb on my nipple. My breath stops for a moment and my heart is beating painfully.

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 desperately.

As if he can hear me, he picks my undulated hips 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, I know.

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.

Only 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 hips to make him goes deeper. But he stops, “You’re so damn tight,” he mutters.

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

I want this day to never end.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Then, his hips jerk 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 hips 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 hips fast, sliding in and out my slick cave, pounding me hard.

“Yes, harder… faster,” I moan, encouraging him while my hands slip under his shirt, feeling his hard muscles.

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

It feels so good. I hold him with my dear life as we dance this ancient dance fast and faster, he pumps 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 hips jerk, and jerk, 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 weight on me.

I know he will regret it 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 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 up again anyway. I know it is the time to admit the truth that I am with child. I bring my hand to my flat belly, trying to feel its presence there.

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. He stands with a tray of food.

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’ve never been to America before. I never sail that far,” I say weakly.

He sighs softly and puts the food on the table. “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 waited a long enough. Lady Isabella won’t wait for 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 while his other hand cup my forehead, looking the sign of fever. But my treacherous body takes his innocent touch for another. I shiver involuntarily.

“You’re not well,” he says, mistaking my reaction.

“I’m truly fine,” I say.

He strokes my eyebrow softly as if his hand has a mind of its own. “These last few months you’ve consoled me. Now, we’re friends, aren’t we? I don’t want you to go. Is it too much to ask?”

I smile wobbly. “Of course, we are. But 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, of course, he doesn’t need to know.

“Yes, I know that,” he says with a 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 a smile. I hope it is a happy one not comes out as a sad smile.

“It seems you had made a decision,” he says with a sigh.

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 hiding all my 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 a foolish thing to do. But I am done fooling myself. Besides, one can’t choose who to love, isn’t it?

For the last time, I memorize his handsome face before I go inside the ship.

“Promise me, you will come back soon,” he says. His green eyes seem dull with sadness.

I nod and smile wobbly.

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 another woman, surely, will break my heart.

“It’s time to go,” I say.

I walk to the ship with my Molly, my maid.

Suddenly, I am enveloped in his strong arms. I feel his hard chest on my back.

I bite my lips to stop the tears that threaten to spill out.

“I’m glad Father wed me to you,” he whispers. I feel his breath near my ear.

“Me too,” I say.

“Next time we meet… I…” he stops.

“James?” I turn my head, looking at him.

His green eyes soften as he leans close to my face, kissing my lips briefly. “Safe trip,” he says, his lips just an inch from mine, our breaths mingle. “I’m still your husband, am I not? A kiss won’t be amiss,” he adds with a smile.

My heart thuds madly. I want to say, I love you, but no sound comes out.

The blasting trumpet from the ship breaks our embrace, calling all passengers to come inside.

“I have to go,” I say.

He nods.

I walk slowly.

Please tell me to stay, tell me you love me

I continue my walk with Molly by my side. But each step feels heavier than the last.

Please tell me to stay, tell me you love me

But of course, he won’t.

I stand near the railing, waving my hand, glancing down to James’ tall form. The ship lurches, and slowly it moves.

His tall, slender form is getting small and smaller, and finally, I can’t see him anymore. I turn my back from the railing. Tear is rolling down freely on my cheeks.

I put my hand on 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 puts a handkerchief in my hand.

Her warm gesture tugs my heart.

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

“Why you don’t tell him about the babe, 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 that he loves another, don’t you?” I say with a 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 know.

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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Also By Rozie Zweet

For Uncle’s Heir

My Uncle’s Nightly Visit

Helping Uncle Getting Hard

Stretched for His Baby

Last Ride before the Wedding

Ride to London

Seeded by the Gardener

Taken Care of by the Butler

From an Innocent Miss to a Bride

The Colonel’s Errant Wife

My Last Wifely Duty

His Father’s Approval

Replacing Mama

What Pa Did While I Sleep

Wedding Night with My Father-In-Law

Taking Care of My Father’s Urgent Need

My Drunken Father Does Me

Lonely Days with My Father-In-Law

My Uncle Teaches Me before the Wedding

Charity and the Villagers

Charity and Her Uncle

His Rebellious Ward

Forbidden Love

My Father-In-Law-Baby

A Ride with My Suitor’s Father

My Angry Father Checks My Cherry

In Name Only

Teaching My New Father

What Uncle Did Under My Skirt

The Headmaster’s Bedding Lesson

My Father Teaches Me to Please

The Explorer’s Daughter

The Explorer’s Wife

In My Father’s Arm

Basic Instinct: Papa and I in the Jungle

Teasing the Butler

Addicted to Doctor’s Magic Seed

By Aunt’s Order: Uncle Deflowers Me

Consoling My Niece

Older Man: The Mistress’ Faithful Servant (Part 1)

Older Man: The Mistress’ Faithful Servant (Part 2)

Older Man: The Mistress’ Faithful Servant (Part 3)

Forbidden Lust: Welcoming Papa

Older Man: Courtesan’s Training

Box Set:

Lady Anne and Her Uncle (1~5)

Lady Lily and Her Sly Older Men (1~3)

The Gullible Miss Jane (1~3)

Charity Series & His Forbidden Wards (4 short stories)

Bundle: Older Man & Younger Woman (Regency Lady, 20 Short Stories)

Papa and His Young Lady Vol. 1 (6 short stories)

Papa and His Young Lady Vol. 2 (6 short stories)


Charity and the Villagers

1802 England.

I walk with basket full of bread to Peter the Carpenter’s house. He is the father of my former maid, Molly. She made me promise to take care his aging father before she went to London to seek a better life.

I am singing softly as I walk through the village’s dusty road. Occasionally, I nod my head or have a small talk when I see someone I know.

Unlike my lofty Cousin Arabella, I know all these villagers by name. They are my friend, my real friend. I like them and they me.

As an orphan and poor relation, I know that I am just a little more than servant myself. My uncle, Lord Shaw, and my departed Aunt never cruel, or treat me less than what I deserve, of course, but I am not their daughter. They are not pampering me like Cousin Arabella.

I admit that I am little jealous of my beautiful cousin. At sixteen, she is only two years younger than me, but she has it all. She has light blonde hair, slender, graceful body and angelic face, and a foremost handsome fiancé who will marry her when she turns eighteen.

I am not saying that I am hideous. It is just I have wicked face and body, Molly often told me. Face and body of a courtesan. I am not sure what she meant by that, for I always live in the countryside and never saw the lady of the night.

I think it is related to my cherry full lips, cat eyes, big tits, and rounded bottom.

Without I realize, the sun is already high in the sky and Molly’s small cottage comes to view. I walk faster to its door and swiftly knock the wooden door.

Shortly, the door opens. And Peter’s wrinkled face greets me with a smile.

“Come in, Miss,” he says enthusiastically before he closes the door with a soft click.

“This is bread from the cook,” I say, putting the basket on the table. “How’s your health?”

“I’m good, Miss. But you know…”

I look at his poor face. I know his ailment. And after all this time, I wonder why he still so shy.

“Oh Peter… of course, I’ll help you. Just sit there and open your breeches,” I say with a kind smile.

He smiles in return, and swiftly sit down and pull out his troublesome cock. I glance down at his long and thick rod. It never ceases to amaze me that someone so old and frail like Peter has a cock that big. Its veined shaft and mushroom tip looks scary. I don’t tell him how it scares me, though. I know it is hard for him to open up to me like this.

I still remember how he tried to hide his ailment at first. Until at my third visit he finally confessed about his trouble and told me that Molly always takes care of his stiff, throbbing manhood.

I look at his bony face and hastily kneel in front of him, taking his erect manhood in my small hand. My hand is barely big enough to circle his thick girth.

But I try my best to milk him. I move my hand up and down his long, hot cock.

“Ah…” Peter starts to moan and breathing harsher.

At first, his cock spurting easily but lately it takes almost half an hour to make him finish and soft again. Sometimes, I have to resort to taking his rod in my mouth to make it faster.

Today, I don’t have much time. Arabella’s fiancé will come for dinner. And my uncle commands me to join them.

So, I lean closer, putting the tip of Peter’s big manhood in my mouth. And I swirl my tongue on it.

“Sweet Jesu,” I hear Peter mutters above me.

I glance up, looking at his old face. It is framed with graying brown hair. His head tilts up and his eyes are half closed.

Seeing his needy moan and taut face makes my cunt throbs. At first, I wonder why his ailment affects me so. But it must be contagious like a cold. I shift my legs, pressing my cunt tighter, easing the ache. But sometimes it is getting unbearable, and I have to rub it.

“Oh yes… Miss. Like that… Ahh…” Peter moans and his hips buck slightly.

Eager to make Peter finish faster, I stretch my mouth wider and take more of his manhood inside my mouth. And I move up and down, feeding myself with his large tool.

I hear Peter’s ragged breath is getting louder. He sounds like an animal, snorting, and grunting. Then, I see him pinching his eyes, calming his raging body.

Oh, this won’t do. I need to go home fast.

I release his manhood from my mouth with a loud pop.

“Oh Peter, I’m sorry but I have to go home fast today,” I say, apologetic.

I see his face fall. “Ah… of course, Miss…”

“Is there something I can do to make it faster?” I really want to help him. Maybe he knows how like he knows about putting his cock in my mouth to make it faster.

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