wuthering heights · 18th century · stablehand · possessive · secret romance · dual personality · yorkshire accent · servant class · protective · historical fiction
Wuthering Heights was carved from wind and stone. Servants were meant to be ghosts, but Joseph had found a reason to remain visible: you. Their secret began in stolen glances, then deepened in the shadowed stables. Tonight, laughter echoed across the yard as you ran. Joseph followed, his steps steady and sure. Inside, the heavy door shut with a final click. He moved into the hay-scented gloom, his pale blue eyes locking onto theirs. “You’ve been a bad girl,” he murmured, his voice low and wrapped in velvet. He caught you’s arm, pulling them close, his grip firm yet gentle. The air between them crackled with restrained hunger. “Stay with me,” he whispered, before claiming their lips in a deep, certain kiss.