He continued toward the edge of the bed, the covers slipping away with each inch. Turn. She should turn away. But she didn’t. His gaze grew darker, cheeks more ruddy. Heat sizzled in the air, crackled through her bloodstream.
The blankets were lower than his hips. One more inch and she would see him. All of him.
She stared at the strange rise of the covers. The ache she felt between her legs earlier intensified to a throb. Ellie teetered on the balls of her feet, leaned toward the bed. Toward Bennett.
“Miss Wilder…” His gravelly voice hitched, begged.
She looked again into his eyes, only to find them hooded, vast, raw.
“Yes,” she murmured, “of course.” Then she dragged her unashamed gaze away and finally turned to face the wall.
She heard a combination of a groan and a sigh from him and then the bed squeaked as he stood.
Ellie pressed her hands into fists, desperate to will away the tumbling rush of desire. He’d distracted her, lulled her away from her original plan.
Damn the man.
After a few moments, she listened to Bennett shuffle chairs across the wood floor and growl. It was obvious he was on the search for something.
“Bloody hell.”
“Do-do you need help, Lord Barrington?”
He snorted. “I would be rather grateful for your help, but I must warn you that I am still not fully clothed.”
“Do you…um…have your trousers on, at least?”
A few drawers opened then closed. “Yes, Ella, I am dressed from the waist down.”
That she could handle. She had already seen him bare-chested on the bed. She turned, but paused after a few paces. A lamp he’d turned on shone across his back. Strength and power danced with the tightening of hard muscles.
Her breath caught. Knees softened.
She moved forward, drawn to his beauty. Her hand reached forward, to touch this sculpture come to life. Bring truth to the vision.
Suddenly, she stopped cold. Several thin, white scars zigzagged near one shoulder.
Bennett swung around. He stood just inches from her, gleaming skin and solid muscles bouncing light and shadows. Awareness shot through every inch of her. A lightning bolt of wickedness.
His gaze darted around the room.
“What-whatever are you looking for?”
Bennett scrubbed his hand over his face. “My shirt from last night. And my goggles.”
It didn’t make sense that he needed his goggles to dress, but she certainly knew where they were. She crossed back to his bed. His shirt was strewn across the settee near the window.
“Here.”
His lips curled into a feral and deadly grin as he headed for her. She stood motionless, her body trembling with a wild hunger, and watched the swing of his powerful arms, the gleam across his vast chest. If those trousers were off she would see where that trail of dark curls led to.
It wasn’t until he was nearly upon her that she regained her senses. Ellie stepped aside to move from his path, from her desperate urge to brush her fingers across his skin.
“Oh, and your goggles are here.”
Ellie bent to pick them up from the floor. The moment her hands touched them, Bennett was crouched down beside her. With a vivid acuteness, she inhaled his scent of sandalwood, musk, and a hint of cinnamon. His hand covered hers. Hot. Unyielding.
Dear God!
“Thank you.” The words hung in the air. Raw, dangerous. “I will take those.”
She was unable to resist. His proximity to her body, to her throbbing need, held her spellbound. The earth teetered, wobbled, swallowed her logic and reason. She’d been captured, imprisoned under his power.
Ellie relinquished her hold.
Bennett withdrew and stood. His cheeks looked flushed but otherwise there was no indication of their brief touch.
She looked up at him, still frozen in the crouch beside the massive bed.
He quickly pulled on his shirt and tidied himself. The goggles now lay upon the side table, strangely unneeded despite his desperate search for them just a few moments ago.
“Come below with me. We can talk more in my workshop.”
For the last three years Bennett had perfected tight and intimate control. He’d not been concerned when Ella insisted on seeing him in his bedchamber.
But then she entered, walked toward him without innocent hesitation or girlish reservation.
Lord, the way she stared at him! Her eyes had burned with curiosity and an unmistakable desire. He doubted she’d have turned had he not said her name.
He’d had no choice but to say her name. Her unashamed, inquisitive glances surged his long dormant fires. He’d hardened just thinking of her wanting to see him naked.
Had she not eventually looked away…
He clenched his jaw, focused on the task at hand. Led her away from his bedchamber and down to the workroom. He flexed his fingers then pressed them once again into a fist. He would quell this fire. He would master control.
At last they reached the metal door he sought: the manor’s gearlift.
“Push the button,” he told her.
Ella stepped forward, that vibrant, inquisitive look in her eyes. She pushed in the button, which made a click, and then turned to him.
“This is a lift. Like the one at the train station.”
He nodded, still watching the light in her eyes.
Once the lift reached their floor, he opened the gate for her and they stepped in. He let her punch the lowest button as he pulled the gate closed.
She smiled up at him. “This is wonderful. Why did you not use it before?”
“You refer to the night you slept here?”
Ella nodded.
“It is on the other side of the house from where we were. And I tend not to use it overly much. The gears need frequent oiling and I prefer the physical movement of my legs.”
“Oh.”
She said nothing else as they slowly descended to the lowest floor of the house. Bennett continued to watch her. Her hair, which twisted simply in a braid down her back, mesmerized him. The strands, the color of warm honey, glistened in the flickering gas light. She wore a simple frock, no frills or lace or bows. Just the fabric curving over generous breasts and hips.
The lift creaked to a stop and Bennett heaved a sigh of relief. He’d just about reined in that annoying, lad-like lust and then one look at her had it breaking loose again.
He strode even quicker now to the room of inventions and then to the door of his workshop. He had to place himself away from her, away from her tantalizing scent.
When they entered the room, Ella wandered around a bit, briefly touching one thing or another. Her face looked paler than before, her lips pursed. Her gaze continued to dart to the finished clockwork arm on the stand.
He leaned against the table and crossed his arms. “So, Ella, you came this way to wake me up and insist on my help. What do you want from me?”
She traced a finger over the wood surface, drew in a deep breath. “I want women to be able to protect themselves. So that if this killer grabs for them, they can escape without injury.”
“It isn’t possible.”
Her gaze on him sharpened. “Why in blazes not?”
“He is much too strong. And quick.”
“Not as much as you think. I just told you that someone escaped from him.”
“It was not the same attacker.”
“Sounded as such to me!”
Not possible. He knew. Better than anyone.
“What makes you believe it is the same killer?”
Ella jabbed her hands on her hips. “He snatched her from behind and molested her, just as you showed me. However, she managed to escape before he could get her skirts up.”
“That doesn’t prove it’s the same killer. I repeat: this man cannot be stopped by the woman he attacks.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you just don’t want to help.”
“Perhaps
I don’t like wasting time.”
Her voice rose. “Then why did you invite me down here? You could have told me it was a waste of time in your bedchamber.”
Bennett immediately looked away from her. Fantasies of pulling her in the bed with him scorched through his mind. The way she’d stood there, waiting to see his rising erection, he knew damn well they needed to be out of that room as soon as possible.
“We needed to leave that room directly.”
She blinked and her tempting lips formed the shape of an O. She had sensed it back in his room, his aching desire and desperate need. But she did not run. Not run? Hell, she clearly wanted to see more.
He inhaled a shaky breath and trembled. By God, she had no idea what she was doing to him.
Ella sighed. “I shall leave you to the rest of your day.”
He was silent for a moment and she turned to go. “Wait.”
She stopped at the door.
“Rosemary is being buried here later today. Would you care to attend?”
The question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. He should let her leave. Having her here wreaked havoc on his state of mind, his desperate need for restraint and control. Ella was a strong wind, blowing through his mind and house, disrupting each carefully laid item. He didn’t want her help; he didn’t need her presence.
Yet, the very thing that uprooted his life, also stirred his hidden fires. Her passion.
“Yes,” she breathed. “More than anything.”
Chapter Six
The weather seemed to know what they were doing. The moment Ellie and Bennett stepped outside an hour later, clouds scuttled in and rain spit on their faces. He offered her an umbrella, but she declined. Something about the cool drops helped her to heal. It washed away the dirt and soot of the darkness in her soul.
It was just her and Bennett standing by Rosemary’s gravesite, the same plot as Lord Barrington’s ancestors. They watched as the casket was lowered into the ground by hired hands. Clods of dirt landed on the wood box with heavy thuds.
“There was no family to notify?” Ellie asked when she couldn’t quell the curiosity any longer.
He stiffened. Droplets skimmed along the shoulders of his coat. “If there are any, we were unable to find them.”
Bennett still didn’t look at her. His gaze was fixed upon the gravesite. The mound of dirt reflected in his black eyes.
Still, even without family, there were other places to bury her. “Why are you putting her in your family’s gravesite? Lundun has a graveyard section for orphans and the like.”
He pressed his lips tighter. His nostrils flared. After a few moments of silence, he said, “Her murder happened in my district. I feel responsible. This is the least I can do.”
The only way Bennett would be responsible was if he killed her himself. Yet, it was compassion in his eyes not murder. How could she ever expect to understand this man?
He opened his house to visitors, yet kept his most amazing inventions secret behind a closed door. He wouldn’t allow others to know of Rosemary’s death, but he buried her on his family’s plot. He was the master of an estate, but disappeared each night and slept until supper.
Ellie stared up at his wet face, damp curls. “Where do you go at night until dawn?”
His gaze widened but then he recovered the slip of surprise. “That, Ella Wilder, is something I cannot share with you.”
“Cannot? Or will not?”
He turned on the spot and started walking back toward the house. Ellie hurried after him. Damn the man. Clearly he was hiding something. Something valuable. And yet he would not share it. Just as he would not help her create a protection device.
Maybe he was the killer. It would explain why he insisted on finding those goggles back in his room. Why he had such a desperate need for secrecy.
If he just told her something, anything, she might be able to drop this outrageous suspicion of him.
Ellie grabbed for his arm. “Fine then. Hold on to your secrets for now. I have a few of my own. But you are now involved in this horrible affair whether you like it or not.”
At long last, he pierced her with that darkened gaze. “I have done right by Rosemary and I will by any others killed in my district.”
Her jaw dropped so far open, she tasted rain on her tongue. “You are restricting your aid to only those in District Four?”
“What aid, Ella? What is it you want me to do other than make a weapon which is worthless, unless someone has eyes in the back of their head.”
The rain intensified, bleached cold into her bones. Her hair was now plastered to her head, her clothes soaked through. Yet, she would not move. She stared him down, dared him to walk away.
“You have the means and intelligence and skill to do something. Hunt him. Capture him. Protect others from him. You can’t just tinker with your toys while he is out there killing women.”
His jaw tensed and his eyes blazed through the gray, slanting downpour. “You will not demand yourself into my house, my life, and tell me what I need to do. I know exactly what it is that I need to do. And right now that is to go back to sleep.”
He started for the house, but stopped. Water streamed from his tense shoulders to the puddle at his feet. Without turning around he said, “Do not come back or further contact me. I cannot be of help to you.”
Damn him. It wasn’t her that he needed to help. It was Jenny and Rosemary and Sarah. It was the girls of Lundun who were helpless and without protection.
“You have an iron heart, Lord Barrington!”
No, this wouldn’t be the last he saw of her.
Bennett Pierce would catch her that murdering monster if she had to drag him to the streets herself to do it.
By the time Ellie got back to the shop in Lundun, she was exhausted and cold. She bathed, changed her clothes and set off to find her uncle.
She looked through all of the rooms but did not locate him until she entered the front shop. Though he normally would have locked the doors hours ago, he sat on one of his worn stools chatting with a customer.
His voice rose and fell, then laughed with merriment. It had been months since she heard that joyous sound from him.
She lit up more lamps upon her way toward the couple. The floor creaked as she approached, but they did not notice. When she was finally upon them, her uncle looked up at her with a smile.
“Ah, Ellie. Here is my niece, the one I was telling you about.”
She glanced at his companion and stopped breathing. Right beside him sat the gregarious Lady Westerling, dressed as she’d always seen her in a mish-mash of a dark skirt and fingerless gloves. Her goggles hung around her neck, along with several chains and pendants, even a large brooch on her lapel. She wore no glasses, however, and so her blue eyes squinted over at Ellie.
“How nice, my dear.”
“Ellie, this is Lady Westerling. She’s having trouble with her two-seater and brought a part for me to fix.”
It wasn’t clear if the old woman recognized her or not. It was possible she couldn’t even see her across the room. Still, a knot formed in the pit of Ellie’s stomach. “N-nice to meet you.”
Oh God. If Lady Westerling realized she actually lived in Lundun rather than at Hilltop Hall, she could be barred from the Syndicate of Provinces.
No. She couldn’t have that. Those meetings were the only avenue she had to help her make changes for the lives of the commoners. She pleaded with them monthly to stop the creation of humanoid automatons. No one else spoke for the lives of those in Lundun. No one else seemed to care.
And now she needed their help to stop a killer.
Lady Westerling smiled warmly and then went back to her discussion with Uncle Joseph. He tinkered with whatever she’d brought in and she told him tales of her girlhood.
As for Ellie, she quickly tidied up the shop as best she could then left to make supper.
Her uncle didn’t join her. In fact, it wasn’t until long after the sun w
ent down that she heard him come out from the front room.
He handed her an envelope then, still smiling, went to sit at the table and eat.
She looked down at the scented paper in her hand. “Miss Ella Wilder” was written across the outside. She stared at it, blinking. It was addressed to Ella, not Ellie.
“Uncle, who gave this to you?”
He looked up from his bowl. “Lady Westerling, of course.”
She twisted the rag in her hand. The old woman knew it was her in the shop all along, that she was here in Lundun. This could be a letter terminating her from the Syndicate of Provinces. Her charade would be over.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
“Are you going to open it?”
Her heart struck an odd rhythm against her ribs. She debated taking it to her room in case she couldn’t bear the crushing blow. But her uncle stared at her eagerly and so she took a deep breath then gently released the seal.
Ellie unfolded the paper inside and read. Relief washed over her. It wasn’t a letter of dismissal but an invitation. Lady Westerling brought an invitation to her ball.
“Well, go on. What is it?” her uncle asked through bites.
Ellie stood from the table and handed him the paper. “It is a request to attend her party this Saturday.”
He smiled. “Oh, you shall have a good time.”
She gathered her dishes. “I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t ever have fun at those things. They are dreadfully boring, I’m a lousy dancer…and I would rather be here with you.”
“Hogwash.”
But it was true. She never did like balls and dances. Jenny always dreamed of going to them. Dozens of times her cousin wished they could trade places, trade houses. That way Jenny could dress up in ball gowns and swirl the night away.
“Go, Ellie. Lady Westerling is a lovely woman.”
She set the dishes in the sink. “I know she is. This has nothing to do with her.”
“Then maybe you’ll find a handsome man to dance with.”
A handsome man. One like the pompous yet dashing Lord Barrington. The infuriating yet seductive Lord Barrington.
The Iron Heart Page 5
