by Amanda Quick
“I will deal with it in a less dramatic fashion,” he assured her. “Let’s get on with it.”
“I do have a tisane that might help.”
“Change the bandage, Mrs. Pyne.”
“Very well.”
The process went smoothly enough. Griffin set his jaw a few times but the discomfort was not nearly as bad as he had anticipated. Adelaide was quick, efficient and very gentle. She applied the balm, wrapped a fresh bandage around his shoulder and secured it in place with cloth ties.
“Do you need me for anything else, ma’am?” Delbert asked. “Because if we’re done here, I’ll be on my way downstairs to the kitchen. Mrs. Trevelyan just took a lemon pound cake out of the oven and she’s making a fresh pot of coffee.”
Griffin was suddenly very hungry. “Sounds tasty.”
Delbert paused at the door. “Don’t worry, Boss; Mrs. Trevelyan has another pot of broth ready for you. I’ll bring some up.”
“Forget the damned broth,” Griffin said. “Ask Mrs. Trevelyan to send a tray of real food to the library. I’ll be downstairs in a few minutes.”
“Right, Boss.”
“Make sure there’s plenty of coffee and a large slice of that pound cake on the tray,” Griffin added.
Adelaide frowned. “You should eat lightly for a while yet, Mr. Winters.” She looked at Delbert. “Ask Mrs. Trevelyan for some scrambled eggs and toast for Mr. Winters, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“If I do not see lemon pound cake and coffee on that tray along with the eggs and toast,” Griffin warned, “you will soon be looking for a new employer, Delbert.”
“Yes, Boss.”
Delbert escaped into the hall and hastily closed the door.
Adelaide gave Griffin a reproving glare. “That is no way to speak to Delbert. His loyalty to you is unquestionable and his concern for your well-being is genuine. I would think that an employer in your rather unique position would value such qualities in a member of your staff.”
Griffin raised his brows. “An employer in my unique position?”
She cleared her throat. “I just meant that, given your unusual profession, it is obvious that you require great loyalty from those who work in this household.”
“Ah, yes.” He pulled the sleeve of his dressing gown up over his bandaged shoulder and retied the sash. “My unusual profession.”
“Well, you are a crime lord, sir. One would think that you would be even more grateful than most employers to have someone like Delbert on staff. Such valuable employees should be treated with respect and civility in any household but most certainly in this one.”
“Enough, Mrs. Pyne.” He got to his feet and started toward her. “Good lord, woman. I have been out of my sickbed for less than an hour and already I am obliged to listen to a lecture. Do social reformers ever cease telling others how to behave?”
She blinked and took one step back.
“Really, sir,” she said, her tone more severe than ever.
Griffin continued to prowl toward her.
“I find that your lectures have a disturbing effect on my senses,” he said. He was aware that his voice had become a little rough around the edges. “Whenever you chastise me or berate me or give orders to me, I find that I am overcome with a compelling urge to kiss you until you stop talking.”
She raised her chin. “I’ll have you know that is the most outrageous thing any man has ever said to me.”
“Obviously you have not met a great many crime lords.” He stopped directly in front of her and planted his right hand on the door of the wardrobe behind her. “We tend to be an outrageous lot.”
“I do not doubt that for a moment,” she replied. “But if you think that you can intimidate me you are quite wrong.”
“Actually, I’d rather kiss you,” he said.
Her scent clouded his brain. Then again, maybe he was just feeling the effects of the lack of solid food. He leaned in a little closer, testing.
“I see,” she said. “Well, I’m afraid that your reaction is only natural under the circumstances.”
He pulled back a little. “What the devil are you talking about?”
“Allow me to explain.” Her tone had become very cool, almost academic. “You are feeling grateful to me because I’ve been at your bedside, tending to your wound for the past three days. I have noticed that men who are ill or injured are inclined to view the women who care for them as angels, at least for a brief period of time. Not to worry, Mr. Winters. The impression generally wears off quickly once the man recovers.”
“Trust me, Mrs. Pyne, in the entire time I have known you it has never once crossed my mind to think of you as an angel. What I am experiencing is simply the urge to kiss you until you cease lecturing. And if you don’t run for the door right now, that is exactly what I am going to do.”
She stood very still, watching him with her dream-filled eyes. Currents of heat swirled in the atmosphere. One did not have to be a talent to feel the intense frisson of awareness that occurred when the energy fields of two people who were sensually attracted to each other were forced into close proximity, he thought. The effects were similar to those of a small lightning storm.
The knowledge that she was aroused was more than gratifying. It was extremely motivating. And strengthening. A true tonic, he thought, one that was infinitely more effective than a nourishing broth.
“I cannot help but observe that you are not fleeing toward the door,” he said.
“No.” Her voice was low and breathless. “I’m not.”
“May I ask why?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “Perhaps I’m curious.”
“About what it would be like to kiss a man in my unique profession?”
“It is not often that one has such an unusual opportunity.”
The not-so-subtle challenge only heightened his desire. “You’re thinking that if you are not satisfied with the results of the experience you can always put me back to sleep again, right?”
“That is certainly an option for me,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I’m surprised you are willing to risk the experiment.”
“I’m a crime lord. Risk goes with the territory.”
He brushed his mouth against hers, intending for the kiss to be a slow, seductive foray. But the instant he touched her, the energy that enveloped them suddenly ignited.
The kiss went from tempting to hot and searing in a heartbeat. Triumph and satisfaction slammed through him.
He had known it would be like this.
He felt the shock of realization and understanding flash through her at the same instant that it hit him. There was no chance for a slow heat to build between them. Without any warning they were both at the edge of control, shivering with the intensity of the experience.
He felt her arms steal around his neck just inside the collar of the dressing gown, bare skin on bare skin. He pressed closer, using the weight of his body to pin her to the wardrobe so that he could feel the curves of her breasts and the soft, feminine shape of her hips beneath the heavy fabric of her gown.
The bed was so close . . .
“No.” Adelaide wrenched her mouth away from his. “We must not. Your shoulder.”
He was vaguely aware that his shoulder was aching, but somehow it did not seem important. He leaned in again and kissed her throat. Tendrils of her hair came free of the pins and floated invitingly around her shoulders.
“Forget my shoulder,” he said against her incredibly soft skin. “That’s what I plan to do.”
“Absolutely not.” Her voice was firmer now. She planted her palms on his bare chest and pushed against him. “We cannot risk reopening the wound. It is healing so nicely. We must not take any chances.”
She probably had a point but he did not want to consider it. Nevertheless, he could tell that the spell had been broken, at least for her. He exhaled heavily and reluctantly moved back a pace.
“I am going to dress now, Mrs. Pyne. You are welcome
to stay and watch if you wish. I gather that you have already seen most if not all of me, so there is no need to concern ourselves with the proprieties, is there?”
Adelaide did not dignify that with a response. She went quickly toward the door.
“I’ll meet you downstairs in the library,” she said. “We have a great deal to discuss now that you are clearly on the road to recovery.”
He waited until she got the door open.
“One question before you leave, Adelaide.”
She gripped the knob very tightly and looked back at him. “What is it, Mr. Winters?”
“You indicated that you were curious about what it would be like to kiss a crime lord. I wonder if your curiosity was satisfied.”
“Quite.”
She went out into the hall. She was not precisely running, he concluded, but she was definitely moving at a very brisk trot.
THE EGGS, TOAST, CAKE AND COFFEE were waiting for him in the library. So was Adelaide. She had taken the time to pin her hair back into a strict twist. The large, white apron was gone and so was the functional housedress she had worn earlier. She was once again dressed in fashionable late mourning, an expertly tailored day dress this time, with a blouselike bodice and pleated skirts in a cloudy shade of gray.
At first glance it was as though the explosion of sensual and psychical fireworks upstairs had never occurred, he thought. Adelaide appeared to be cool and controlled once more. Her eyes were unreadable. But currents of tension swirled in the air between them. He took some satisfaction in that knowledge and then ambled over to the table where the breakfast tray awaited him.
“As you noted upstairs, we have a great deal to talk about,” he said.
“Eat your breakfast first, sir,” she said. “You need the sustenance.”
“Thank you. I could not agree more.”
He sat down and fell to the eggs and toast with a vengeance. While he ate he found himself wondering about the deceased Mr. Pyne. Had Adelaide loved him with all of her heart? So many questions and he had no right to ask a single one.
She poured coffee for both of them. “Your library is quite impressive.”
“For a crime lord, do you mean? Believe it or not I can both read and write.”
She set the pot down with a sharp bang that was loud enough to cause the dogs, dozing in front of the hearth, to raise their heads. The beasts studied the situation with some curiosity for a moment and then went back to sleep.
“Not only do you read and write,” Adelaide said, “you speak with the accents of a man who was educated to be a gentleman.”
“Some habits are hard to break.”
“You did not grow up on the streets, did you?”
“No.” He had overreacted, he decided. He tended to do that a great deal around Adelaide. What the devil had happened to his ironclad self-control, he wondered. He used his fork to cut a slice of lemon pound cake.
“I arrived on the streets at the age of sixteen,” he said finally.
“Following the death of your parents?”
“Yes. My father was an investor. He had a talent for financial matters. But not even those possessed of a powerful, intuitive ability to determine the potential for profits and losses can predict storms. One of the ships in which he had invested not only a great deal of his own money but also funds from a consortium went down at sea. Had he lived there is no doubt but that he could have recovered and paid off the other investors. But he and my mother both . . . died a few weeks after the disaster. The creditors took everything.”
“Your story is not unlike my own,” Adelaide said quietly.
She drank coffee in silence while he finished the cake.
“Sorry,” he said, vaguely embarrassed by his manners. “Haven’t been this hungry since my days on the streets.”
“A healthy appetite is always a good sign when one is recovering from a serious injury,” she said. “I am glad that you are well enough to eat a full meal. I only hope you do not make yourself ill with that cake. Too much rich food on an empty stomach can have very unpleasant consequences.”
He brushed crumbs from his hands. “You certainly know how to make sparkling mealtime conversation, madam.”
“I am merely trying to give you the benefit of my advice, but I can see that you are not interested so I suggest that we move on to a more pressing subject.”
He picked up his coffee cup, leaned back in the chair and stretched out his legs.
“You want to know why I happened to be at the theater the other night, don’t you?” he said.
“Among other things. Do not mistake me. I owe you my life. But I cannot help but wonder how it is that you were conveniently at hand when someone pointed a gun at me.”
“I think you know the answer.” He swallowed more coffee, savoring the little rush of heat and energy. “I was keeping an eye on you.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so faintly. “In other words you were following me.”
“Of course. At the moment I have a great interest in your health and well-being.” He kept his tone even. “If anything of an unfortunate nature were to occur to your person I would be in dire straits. As we have discussed, it is not easy to find someone with your sort of talent. Replacing you might prove difficult.”
“I see,” she said stiffly. “It is always nice to know that one is appreciated.”
“I assure you, Adelaide, you are presently of the utmost value to me. I intend to take excellent care of you.”
“Until I work the lamp for you.”
“Do not concern yourself about your future. I will see to your safety after you work the lamp, as well. It is the least I can do to repay you.”
Her mouth tightened at the corners. “Do you have any notion of who tried to murder me the other night?”
“Not yet. But now that I am feeling more fit I will get the word out on the streets that I am seeking answers to that very question. It will not take long to obtain a name.”
She sighed. “I suppose it must have been one of the brothel owners whose establishments I raided.”
“Very likely. It seems that you and I have something in common, Adelaide. We have both managed to acquire a few enemies. But you are safe in this household.”
She smiled. “Because none of your enemies knows that the notorious Director lives amid the ruins of the St. Clare Street Abbey?”
“I suspect a few of them, Luttrell, for instance, is well aware of my address, just as I am aware of his. But I very much doubt that any of my competitors, including Luttrell, would dare to take you from this house. While you are here you are under my protection.”
She grimaced. “In other words, whoever tried to get rid of me will not consider the objective worth risking the wrath of Griffin Winters.”
“To be blunt, no.”
“Not even Luttrell?”
Griffin shook his head, very sure. “He is nothing if not pragmatic. He won’t break the Truce just to get rid of an annoying social reformer. He knows it would mean all out war again. What’s more, I’m sure it has occurred to him that the next time I would not offer a second truce. The war would not end until one of us killed the other.”
She stilled. “You would go to war for me?”
“In my world all I have is my reputation. I have spent twenty years crafting it. I cannot allow a rival to destroy it.”
“No, of course not,” she muttered. She reached for her coffee cup. It was his reputation that concerned him. There was nothing personal involved. She had no business feeling so deflated, she thought. Exactly what sort of answer had she expected?
“As I said, you are safe here, Adelaide.” Griffin drank more coffee and lowered the cup. “I can protect you, assuming I don’t turn into a Cerberus first. Once I am free of that problem I can concentrate on other business.”
“At the risk of repeating myself,” she said, “I doubt very much that you are in danger of becoming a monster.”
“Unfortunately, there is no practical w
ay to convince Arcane, specifically the Jones family, of the wisdom of your conviction.”
Startled, she paused, her cup halfway to her lips. “What on earth does Arcane have to do with this situation?”
“If the Jones family discovers that I have inherited the Winters Curse it will do whatever it takes to destroy me.”
She felt as though all the air had just been sucked out of the room. It took two tries before she could speak.
“I . . . I don’t understand,” she finally got out. “What do you mean?”
“Nicholas Winters was convinced that he was strong enough to handle the three talents.”
“Yes. You explained that.”
“He believed some of his offspring would also inherit that ability. But the Society does not abide by that theory. If the Joneses even suspect that I am showing symptoms of becoming a Cerberus, they’ll hunt me down like the mad dog they will assume that I am. For obvious reasons I would prefer to avoid that outcome.”
She took a deep breath. “Mr. Winters—”
“After what just transpired between us upstairs, I think you can call me Griffin.”
Slowly she reached into a hidden pocket in her gown and withdrew a white card. “Mr. Winters, I have something to tell you. I fear you will not be pleased.”
“What could be more displeasing than the prospect of turning into a monster?”
“While you were sleeping, you had a visitor. A consultant of sorts. To be clear, I’m afraid I’m the one who summoned her.”
She handed him the card.
13
“LUCINDA JONES WAS HERE IN THE ABBEY?” GRIFFIN STORMED to the far end of the library, swung around and stalked back toward Adelaide. Hot energy simmered in the air around him. “Under my roof? You used the medicine that she gave you to treat my wound? How in bloody hell could such a thing happen?”
She watched him warily from the chair. There was a part of her that wanted to flee the room but she had already run from him once today. She would not do so again.
“Mr. Winters, calm yourself, sir,” she said, employing her most soothing tones. “You have sustained a serious injury. You must not let your nerves become rattled like this. The stress will hinder the healing process.”
