by Robin Gideon
The size and weight of the carriage meant it required a four-horse team. Radburn, never one to do anything by half measures, had purchased a matching foursome of beautiful Belgian, roan mares.
“Very, very nice,” Dirk said, running his palm over the seat cushion. “You’ve talked about having this built for so long, I thought your words were just bluster.”
“The carriage arrived yesterday. A team of craftsmen worked a solid month building it.” Radburn poured himself another scotch from the bottle in the basket on the carriage’s floor. “Just to house the horses, I had to add an addition to the livery.”
Dirk used a fingertip to move aside the window curtain. Outside, the carriage traffic was beginning to abate as businessmen made their way home in a swirl of Hansom cabs, and workmen walked wearily.
“Call me old-fashioned, but is it bothering you as much as it bothers me that she’s still at her damned desk, slaving away? Who ever heard of a woman running a company the size of London International Transport?” Dirk asked quietly. “Haven’t we seen every last one of her employees already leave?”
“Somehow your face doesn’t come to mind when I hear the term old-fashioned.”
Dirk was about to give his friend a less than friendly rejoinder when Faye stepped out of her office building and descended the granite steps. Despite his considerable experience with women, his heartbeat accelerated at the sight of her. Dirk couldn’t remember a time when a woman made him feel this much anticipation.
He was out of the carriage in an instant, with Radburn close on his heels. As he crossed the crowded street, a cab driver gave him a shout of warning, preventing Dirk from walking into the hackney’s path.
“That woman’s blinded you,” Radburn said lightheartedly.
Dirk kept walking, pretending he hadn’t heard his friend. Faye was coming toward them, though at an angle. She was perhaps forty feet away, and from a distance, Dirk was able to see her more objectively than when he’d had her in his arms. She couldn’t be much more than five feet tall, and her body was quite voluptuous. He knew from experience that beneath her prim, white blouse she wore an underbust corset made of exquisite silk. The corset’s bodice held her extravagantly rounded breasts up high—but despite the corset’s best efforts, when Faye walked, her bosom bounced and swayed, drawing Dirk’s gaze and piquing a libido that had been simmering since early that afternoon. Her hair was black as a raven’s feather, held in a chignon in back, and mostly hidden now by a small, black hat that matched her coat and skirt. Dirk remembered how lovely she had looked when her hair had become disheveled during their brief, interrupted afternoon tryst.
Dirk had not wanted to run. There was a certain indignity in running, especially running after someone. But when Dirk realized Faye was about to step up into a hired Hansom cab, he closed the distance that separated them with such haste that the curvaceous businesswomen, upon hearing his hurried footsteps against the cobblestones, wheeled around. Her eyes were wide, apprehension clear in her expression.
“I’m sorry,” Dirk said, stepping close to her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The coachman, with a horsewhip in hand as he sat at his post at the rear of the cab, asked in a low tone, “This gentleman bothering you, miss?”
“No.” Faye turned her attention away from Dirk and gave the hackman a smile that wavered uncertainly. “He’s not bothering me, Charlie.”
Dirk put his hand on Faye’s forearm. “We’ve brought Radburn’s new coach for you.” Dirk’s tone was lighter than his mood. He was more desirous to speak with Faye again than he was willing to admit. “You won’t need this cab.”
The violet color of Faye’s eyes was so startling that for a breath-held moment, Dirk could do little more than just look at her.
“But,” she began, her gaze dancing from Dirk to Radburn and back again, “Charlie often gives me a ride home. He’s got a wife and three children.”
“Four little ones, ma’am,” Charlie piped up. “The missus had the last one two weeks ago tomorrow.”
Her concern for the hackman’s income gave Dirk one more reason for being enraptured by this enigmatic woman. She was completely different from the vacuous, well-financed, married women with whom he usually consorted.
She wanted to leave. Dirk could tell, and he couldn’t allow that. He gave her a smile and said, “We’ve brought a basket stuffed with food and drink, in case you’re hungry.” Reaching into his vest pocket, he extracted all of the coins he had. “I’ll pay Charlie for his inconvenience.”
Dirk looked at the coins in his palm, saw that they represented several days or more of labor for the hackman, and handed them to him. “Why don’t you take your lovely wife and children out for a good meal tonight, Charlie?”
The driver’s eyes widened, and his jaw dropped open when he saw the bounty in his hand. “Mister, are you sure you want me to have all this for not giving the lady a ride home?”
Glad he had taken care of Faye’s means of escape, Dirk’s confidence soared and his mood lightened. “That’s precisely what I mean. Now, off to home and that lovely family for you this instant, or I’ll ask for my money back.”
With a touch from Charlie’s whip, the hackman’s old gelding pulled the Hansom cab away from London’s business district.
When Dirk turned back toward Faye, there was the slightest smile on her lips.
“Do you always rearrange everyone’s life to suit your own wishes?” she asked, folding her arms together and giving him a stern look.
The gesture was meant to give the impression of moral resoluteness and emotional disapproval. Its intention was thwarted by the fact that when Faye folded her arms beneath her breasts, she lifted the twin mounds and unintentionally made their extravagance even more impossible to ignore.
Like a child willing to confess some naughtiness that really wouldn’t get him into trouble, Dirk gave Faye a boyishly charming smile and answered, “Usually. It’s a lifelong habit, I’m afraid. I’m told my father does the same thing.”
“Multigenerational despotism?”
“That’s an unusual way of putting it,” Dirk replied breezily, taking Faye by the elbow and turning her toward the enormous four-horse closed carriage on the opposite side of the cobblestone street some fifty feet away. “But I can’t deny its accuracy.”
Standing between the two big men, Faye shook her head and said firmly, “I shouldn’t be seen with you two.” She looked up and down the street. With open fear in her voice, she added, “I can’t afford even a whisper of gossip.”
“She’s right,” Radburn said. “She’s got enough troubles without our adding to them.”
Undaunted by setbacks of any nature while in romantic pursuit, Dirk said, “Faye, walk around the next street corner. Dirk and I will get into the carriage and meet you. The curtains are drawn, and there’s no family crest on the door, so no one will know who is inside.” He grinned guiltily. “While woodcuts of our faces are often in the newspapers, yours never is.” He winked at her. “Sometimes it pays to be anonymous.”
Dirk felt absurdly happy as he walked back to Radburn’s lavish coach. “How discreet is your driver?”
“You’ve known Walter for years,” Radburn replied, obviously irked at the question. “He knows what’s expected of him.”
Walter, having seen Radburn and Dirk approaching, climbed down from his high perch in the front of the coach. He opened the door, and as Radburn stepped up, he said, “The horses are a hackman’s dream, sir. I know you paid a small fortune for them and the carriage, but I’d say you got every sixpence worth.”
“I’m glad you like them, Walter.” Radburn put a hand on the hackman’s shoulder. “We may just be wandering around the city for a while. We’ll be picking up a lady just around the corner. No matter what, I want you to keep the coach moving, but keep the ride smooth.”
Walter grinned knowingly. “Ladies is what this big coach was made for, isn’t it, sir?”
Rather than l
ying, Radburn stepped up into the coach.
Dirk looked into Walter’s eyes. “She is a lady, Walter. Please treat her the same as you would any princess.”
The lascivious smile vanished from Walter’s face. “Of course, Mr. Boyd. I know my place.”
* * * *
Faye whispered to herself, “It takes a very foolish woman to get into a coach with men the likes of Radburn McSwain and Dirk Boyd, and I am not a fool.”
It was a mistake, she knew, to risk her reputation by having anything at all to do with those men. Hadn’t she heard stories about Radburn and Dirk luring women into their spiderwebs of passion? Hadn’t she experienced herself the impossibility of maintaining a ladylike decorum when they turned on the charm?
As she walked, Faye was suddenly and embarrassingly aware that she was no longer wearing her drawers. Her silk-sheathed legs scissored with her steps, and she detected an anticipatory tingling in her pussy. She realized she was walking faster than normal, and the awareness that her haste was a direct result of the men she would soon meet flooded her senses with guilty excitement. Her nipples, which were gently rubbing against the silk camisole from the urgency of her stride, tightened and became more sensitive to stimulation.
She was intoxicated by the forbidden desires inspired by Radburn and Dirk.
Faye had not gone thirty yards when she heard the rather loud clop-clop of horseshoes against the cobblestones. She turned to see four beautiful roan, Belgian mares pulling one of the largest coaches she’d ever seen.
The coach came to a stop, the door opened, and the entrance ladder was kicked out. The ladder unfolded, and Faye smiled. She had never seen a private coach that required three steps up for one to enter it.
Inside the darkened interior, she spotted Radburn and Dirk, one on either side of the door, their faces pale, their eyes bright and alive.
“Quickly now,” Radburn said, his voice low. “You don’t want all of London seeing you with scalawags like us.”
On only rare occasions did Faye know in advance she was making a mistake and still was not willing to change her course. As she stepped up into the carriage, she had the distinct impression she would live to regret her rash decision to meet these men in a lavishly oversized and appointed private carriage—but she couldn’t stop herself from going to them. Individually and collectively, Radburn and Dirk were the most blatantly virile and masculine men she had ever known. Not only were they distinctly male, they were absurdly gorgeous. A thousand generations of genetic input made it impossible for Faye, no matter how much she tried for the contrary, to not respond sexually to their allure. They were Alpha males, and her response to them was instinctual.
As Dirk pulled up the steps, Faye looked around the carriage and murmured, “My Lord, you don’t believe in doing things in half measures, do you, Mr. McSwain?”
He smiled proudly.
Feeling the need to take him down a notch or two, Faye said, “Not even my late husband had a carriage like this, and he was the most narcissistic man I’ve ever known in my life.”
Dirk chuckled at Faye’s tease and started to sit in the forward seat with her, but she raised a hand.
“If you don’t mind, you can sit in the rear seat with Radburn,” she said with less confidence than she had hoped. She wasn’t at all certain what she wanted, but she was sure she would think more rationally if she kept as much distance between herself and the men as possible.
“As you wish, m’lady,” Dirk replied, grinning, not at all contrite by Faye’s rebuff.
With his walking stick, Radburn signaled Walter by tapping the ceiling of the carriage. After a faint crack of the whip, the vehicle started rolling.
Faye inhaled and caught the distinct, pleasing aroma of new leather. She also caught the scent of roast beef, fresh bread, and spirits. On the floor at her feet was a rather large, wicker picnic basket.
“Let me say that it’s good to see you again,” Dirk said, his voice low and intimate, his eyes sparkling blue even in the carriage’s dimly lit interior. “You’re as lovely as I remembered.”
Faye looked away. It was difficult for her to maintain an emotional equilibrium with these two men. She pulled off her wrist-length, kidskin gloves and ran her palms over the leather surface of the carriage seat. The carriage itself was an ostentatious display of wealth, and though Faye suspected it didn’t say anything particularly favorable about herself, she was impressed with Radburn for what he was capable of purchasing.
“I surprised myself by joining you, Mr. Boyd,” Faye replied after a moment, being more honest than she had intended. She looked up at them then looked away quickly, her heart accelerating as the reality of being alone with Radburn and Dirk insinuated itself into her consciousness. In a soft voice, she said, “This afternoon…I want you to know that…that’s not the woman I normally am. That’s not the woman you see before you now.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dirk move from his seat and kneel on the floor’s thick, woven rug. She uttered the tiniest of gasps, too embarrassed by her earlier behavior to meet his gaze directly. She heard the tinkle of ice against silver and the clinking of glasses accidentally bumping.
“The woman I see before me now,” Dirk said quietly, extending a glass of champagne toward Faye, “is incredibly lovely.”
Faye looked at Dirk, then at the champagne flute. The glassware seemed miniaturized by the size of his long-fingered hand. When she looked into his eyes, she saw mature desire and boyish innocence—neither of which she trusted, and both of which delighted her.
“I believe my nerves could use a libation.” Faye took the glass, and Dirk went back to his seat beside Radburn, moving, despite his size, with fluid feline grace. She sipped the icy-cold and thoroughly refreshing champagne. Searching for something harmless to say, she commented blandly, “This carriage is so big I can very nearly stand up in it.”
“I believe in being comfortable,” Radburn explained with mild inflection, as though to do any different was an affront to the natural order of things.
The right side of Dirk’s too-kissable mouth quirked upward in a half-smile. “What do you believe in, Faye?”
Faye could have said a thousand things to blithely deflect the question, but for reasons she couldn’t quite grasp, she decided to answer Dirk honestly.
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure.” She took a sip of champagne and was surprised to see that she had already drained the glass. “I used to think I knew the difference between right and wrong, but after my deplorable conduct this afternoon, I’m not so sure I do.”
Dirk opened the lid of the enormous picnic basket and extracted the dripping champagne bottle from an ice bucket inside. He refilled Faye’s glass, and she noticed that although she felt like a bundle of ragged nerves, Dirk appeared to be without a care in the world—as though he hadn’t done shockingly intimate things to her earlier in the day. In that instant of awareness, Faye envied Dirk for his cavalier ways but was angered by his ability nevertheless.
“What happened wasn’t a bad thing, Faye,” Radburn said quietly. When she looked at him, his shoulders seemed amazingly broad beneath his finely cut, silk jacket. “And it wasn’t as though any of us planned on it happening.”
Faye drank then shook her head. “It was wrong.” She looked up at the men, and when she spoke, her tone carried a borderline desperation that hadn’t been there earlier. “It must be wrong, don’t you see?”
Dirk shook his head emphatically, his gaze boring into Faye’s. “No, you’re the one who is wrong.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and extracted a piece of white silk. It took Faye a moment to realize she was looking at her own underpants—the ones Dirk had removed from her and then had shown the good sense to hide inside his jacket the instant Mr. McClusky stepped into the office.
“Tell me, Faye,” Dirk continued, his tone taking on an erotic inflection when he spoke her name, “do you always wear silk underwear?”
Faye flinched at the q
uestion, as though she had been physically touched. The undergarment dangled teasingly from Dirk’s fingertip. Did he expect her to get out of her seat to retrieve it? Faye felt as though she was slowly sinking in quicksand. These men were so much more adept at playing at love than she was.
“Tell me, Faye,” Dirk went on, his deep baritone as seductive as ever, “is this the first day you’ve spent at the office without wearing your drawers?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “Of course it’s the first time.”
“Then you didn’t send Annie home to get you another pair?”
“No.” Her brow furrowed as she sensed a trap. “I didn’t.”
“You’re sure?”
“Of course I’m sure!” she hotly replied. “How could I not be sure about something like that?” The words were hardly out of her mouth before she knew she had stepped into a trap.
Dirk’s smile became distinctly wolfish. “Oh?”
The single, taunting word created a fissure within Faye. By nature, she despised anyone who dared to challenge her honesty, and under any other circumstance she would have confronted the person questioning her. But with Dirk, absolutely nothing was exactly as it seemed. The most harmless intimations carried the most sincere threats, and portents of violence brought with them pleasure that danced the taut, quivering tightrope separating rapture from terror.
Their gazes met and held. Defiantly, Faye refused to be the first to look away. Dirk seemed to sense her stubbornness, and a boyish dimple formed in his right cheek. He bit his lower lip then said in a voice that barely carried above the clopping of hooves against the cobblestones, “Prove it.”
