“My sweet, you have no idea what you do to me.” He took her mouth once more, surprised to realize she gave as much as he. Why had he ever doubted they would suit? That only made his desire for her stronger.
“Tell me,” she whispered when he eased back. A frown marred her brow, her blue eyes clouded with the same passion coursing through him.
He couldn’t refuse her.
“I want you. I want your soft body under me, your hair across my pillow.” He loosened the strands to spread them just as he’d imagined. “I want to feel your bare skin against mine.”
“You do?” She sounded puzzled by his words.
“I do.” He eased down to kiss her neck, then lower still, moving across the top of her breasts. Unable to resist, he took her nipple into his mouth, dampening the fabric as he did so.
“Oh!” The surprise in her tone pleased him. Was she shocked at what he’d done or at what she’d felt when he’d done it?
He repeated the movement on her other nipple, hoping to find out, only to realize it didn’t matter. Her pleasure was all he needed.
“Yes, Spencer.” She arched under him, making his body throb with need.
Her responsiveness had him pulling at the ribbon that held the nightgown in place. He eased aside the soft linen, his body tightening at the sight of the pale mound of her breast with its rosy pink nipple. He took the tip into his mouth once more, laving it with his tongue as his hand lowered to the bare skin of her waist.
The flare of her hip drew him, her nightgown creating a barrier he disliked. Running his hand down further, he found the hem of it and eased upwards, loving the softness of her body. Higher and higher he climbed, waiting for her to call a halt to this madness even as he prayed she didn’t.
“Spencer?”
He tipped his forehead against hers as he stopped his exploration, drawing a deep breath with the hope of slowing the throbbing of his body.
“You make me feel...beautiful.” Her delicate touch across his shoulders drove him mad. “You make me feel special. Different. As though I matter.” Her fingers ran along his arms then down his sides to hold tight to his hips. “I’ve never felt this way before.”
Damn. How was he to resist her?
“You are beautiful. You are special. And I want you so much.” He swallowed, aware he couldn’t say more.
“I don’t know what to say.” Emotion clogged her throat, adding to his. “I feared that you no longer cared for me.”
“Never,” he whispered as he placed kisses along the line of her neck.
“I love it when you touch me.” She shifted under him in invitation, sending another surge of desire through his body.
He had to respond. Just a little bit more. Then he’d send her back to her room and hope the light of day would bring lucidity as to how they might work through their differences.
With one then two then three fingers, he molded the velvety curve of her bare hip, then allowed his fingers to dance closer to her center. Surely once he touched her, he could let her go.
Her breath caught in her throat as he neared his destination. She was so soft, so warm. Hot even.
He continued, both hoping and hating the idea of her stopping him. Then he reached her soft curls. Her moan was all the urging he needed, especially when she moved her hands along his sides to his hips. Thank heaven the sheet covered the rest of him.
Damn. What was he doing? He moved his hand back to her hip, trying to find the strength to stop. They both needed to decide what they wanted if they were willing to resolve their differences, and whether they truly had a future before they took this step.
He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, digging deep to find the strength to halt before things went any further.
“Spencer?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“We have foolishly and blindly ignored the evil, and consequently we have not been free to provide adequately for the reception of those who have lived in it and are now desirous of returning, if they may, to decent life.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Dalia knew beyond a doubt what Spencer intended. She felt his withdrawal on both a physical and emotional level. And she was having none of it. “Don’t you dare ruin everything.”
His quick intake of breath at her spin on the phrase she’d said to him so often in their childhood had the desired effect.
“You used to tell me that I ruined everything.” He chuckled then tipped his head to rest against hers. “Dalia.”
“Yes.” Well aware he searched for the right words, so he could follow the rules of which he was so fond, she squeezed his hand which was still on her hip. “Let us have this moment. Happiness is so fleeting, and you make me happy. I would make you feel the same.”
When he didn’t respond, doubt settled in. How often had this sort of reckless behavior, of forging ahead without considering the possible outcomes, landed her in serious trouble? Worse yet, it had pushed away Spencer.
“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. Then his lips captured hers, sending her senses reeling and tugging her heart.
No, she wanted to protest. It was he who was too good for her. But the words were washed away on a tide of longing so deep that it stole her thoughts.
She only knew that she wanted Spencer in every possible way. Her declaration of love had nearly spilled from her lips moments ago, but she held it back, not wanting to burden him. It would take time to convince Spencer that he couldn’t live without her, but her battle to do so started now.
“Yes.” She held tight to his hand on her hip, not wanting him to remove it. “Yes, you do.”
His breath came out in a whoosh. “Perhaps—”
She placed a finger to his lips to stop him from saying more as she already knew what he’d suggest. He’d do the right thing just like he always did. He was an honorable man to his core, and she loved that about him even when that trait maddened her.
She replaced her finger with her lips, hoping to convince him to continue, that this was the right thing to do. For both of them.
In a matter of seconds, the stiffness of his shoulders eased, and he responded to her kiss. His thumb drew circles on her hip, moving ever closer to her center. While she knew the mechanics of how this act was done from her mother’s stilted explanation, this felt completely different and totally unexpected.
The ache low in her body couldn’t be denied and had her shifting restlessly. Once again, his fingers grazed her curls and her hips lifted in response. When he touched her body intimately, she gasped.
“So sweet,” he muttered between his gentle kisses. “So perfect.”
As her body adjusted to his touch, a delicious pressure began to build. Her hips matched the rhythm of his touch. “Oh.” The word was totally inadequate to express what she was experiencing.
Yet she wanted Spencer to feel the same way. She ran a hand along his back, loving the definition of his muscles, the soft skin near his hip.
With a muffled oath, he freed himself from the covers, allowing the heat of his body to slide along hers. The sensation was glorious. She moved her hand lower to explore his firm backside then shifted to his hip, wanting to touch the hardness pressed against her.
Her fingers found his staff, and he moaned in response. The velvety heat of it intrigued her. The firmness of it shocked her. She explored its length even as his dancing fingers had her breath catching.
“Please,” she whispered, the candlelight highlighting his handsome features.
He stilled for a long moment as though wrestling with himself before gently nibbling her earlobe. “I want you so badly that I ache.”
“Then we are one in the same.” Relief filled her that his feelings matched hers.
“There’s a way we could please ourselves without risking too much.”
Disappointment speared through her. Of course, he didn’t want to take risks. Not with her. It wasn’t as if he’d declared his undying love. She reminded herself this was
merely the beginning of her campaign to win him. Love would take time.
But she had no doubt of her love for him. She wanted him and this moment in any form she could have it. Whatever he suggested would be enough. For now. Tomorrow could wait.
“How?” Dalia hoped his idea involved more of the sensations coursing through her. That it might ease the ache deep inside.
He kissed her for a long moment before touching her again. He moved his hand in a lovely circular motion on her hip that heightened her desire. His fingers teased her curls before at last touching her slick folds. Then he entered where she’d never even touched herself. The invasion both shocked and pleased her. His thumb pressed against her center, causing tension to build. Her body took up the same rhythm as his fingers.
Going with her instincts, she wrapped her fingers around his manhood tighter, moving along his length, his hoarse groan confirming she did the right thing.
Layer upon layer, the delicious pressure grew until she felt as if she teetered on a ledge. “Spencer?”
“Yes, my sweet. Let go. I’ve got you.”
His words made no sense, but this was Spencer. The man she trusted with her very soul. What could she do but what he suggested? She let go.
Spirals of sensation fluttered through her, lifting her even higher. Her body pulsed as a bright light burst behind her closed eyes, shattering into a thousand stars.
Spencer groaned, kissing her bare shoulder. “That was beautiful.”
“What of you?” she whispered, her body still floating back to earth. She reached for him again, loving how he moved his hips as she held him.
“Yes.” Within moments, his body shuddered beside hers, the shaft in her hand suddenly damp. He grabbed her wrist to cease her movements, his body jerking.
He kissed her again, and she never wanted it to end. Then he carefully wiped her hand and himself before wrapping his arms around her and rolling onto his back, drawing her with him, holding her as though he’d never let her go.
The moment squeezed her heart.
“Dalia.” The way he whispered her name, his voice full of wonder and gratitude, made her feel as if he gave her the highest praise. “You are an amazing woman.”
The warmth stealing through her frightened her with its intensity. His praise meant far more than it should. She closed her eyes, surprised at her sudden tears. She rarely cried, and this wasn’t the time to do so.
What was wrong with her?
All she could do was return his embrace, holding tight, reveling in the way he made her feel so special.
Never mind all that remained between them, keeping them apart. For right now, she was exactly where she wanted to be—in his arms. And that was enough.
~*~
Charlie stepped out of the smoky tavern only to draw a deep breath of dirty air of a different kind. A fog had rolled in just past midnight, holding the coal dust at street level rather than allowing it to drift away on the night breeze.
The stench had him crinkling his nose in response.
He yawned, wishing he could seek his bed. But first, he wanted to take one more pass down Flowers and Dean to make certain the girls were working as they should. While he had others watching them, there was nothing like his presence to give the women a good jolt and remind them of their purpose. He’d kept a close eye on things since Kate’s mutiny and subsequent disappearance.
Though he’d hoped to frighten the Fairchild woman into telling what she knew, her house was now well guarded. As long as Kate held her silence and remained gone, Charlie had decided not to bother. McCarthy believed him when he’d promised Kate would no longer cause trouble, assuming she was dead. But Charlie hadn’t told him the truth.
He strolled along to his destination, noting who was talking with whom and who was nowhere in sight. Business was brisk with many men on the street. Charlie nodded in approval as he watched some of the women approach the men, and several struck a deal.
He paused in the shadows a short distance from the corner to observe. One man had eyes only for Rose, a popular girl of Charlie’s. Hopefully, she’d think to charge a higher price since he acted so enamored. Another bloke passed by, his gaze lingering on the girls as he walked but shaking his head when one of them approached.
A man on the opposite side of the street stood in the doorway of a building where the shadows were deep. The way he watched everyone with such patience set Charlie’s teeth on edge.
“Busy night,” David, one of his men, noted as he came to stand beside Charlie.
“No trouble?” Charlie asked.
“The girls seem to be behavin’ themselves.”
“How long has that bloke been standin’ there?” Charlie tipped his head to where a man leaned, partially hidden by the doorway.
“What bloke?” David stared for a long moment. “Oh. I couldn’t say. Didn’t realize anyone was there.”
“A bit of a ghost,” Charlie muttered to himself.
“A ghost?” David looked at the man then frowned at Charlie. “I think he’s as alive as you and me.”
Charlie shook his head. “’Tis a figure of speech.”
David’s brows rose, telling Charlie that the meaning of his comment had been lost on him.
“I don’t like it.” The longer Charlie watched him, the more uneasy he became.
“If he was a cop, he’d have taken action by now.”
“True. And if he’s one of those damned do-gooders who can’t seem to mind their own business, he’s bein’ awfully quiet. I don’t like quiet.”
“Want me to run him off?”
“No. I’ll see what he’s about for myself. Have a word with the girls. See if anyone knows him.” He patted the knife he carried on his belt. “If he’s up to no good, I’ll take care of him.”
“I’ll ask Sally and some of the others. They’ll have noticed if he’s been hanging around long.”
Charlie had to wonder if the man had anything to do with what McCarthy had told him about the Intelligence Office watching their operation. Perhaps it was time to send a message to them that they needed to keep their noses out of where it didn’t belong. The question was whether McCarthy would approve if Charlie took the initiative to take matters into his own hands.
David returned several minutes later. “Sally says he did the same thing two nights past. She approached him to see if he wanted a tumble, but he said no. She says his moustache makes him easy to remember.”
“I’m going to have a little chat with him. See if I can’t convince him to tell me what he’s doing.” With a grim smile, Charlie ducked into an alley that would lead him behind the moustached man. He didn’t like anyone poking into his business. The man obviously needed a lesson in manners, and so did whoever had sent him.
~*~
Spencer found himself staring out the window of his library yet again, all attempts to focus fruitless. He needed to leave shortly for the office to meet with the others working on the Pruett and McCarthy case. He should’ve been reviewing his notes but had been too distracted thus far to do so.
Dalia.
She’d not only taken over his dreams but his daytime thoughts as well. What was he going to do with her?
Perhaps a better question was what she was going to do with him? He scoffed at the thought, but it was more apt than he cared to admit. He couldn’t think of any point in their relationship when he had held the upper hand. Nor had he wanted to. The woman was a force, a volatile, unfathomable force whose movements and thoughts continued to surprise him.
He’d taken far too great of a risk by allowing her to remain in his bed for those few hours at the house party two days ago. Yet he hadn’t been able to resist. If they’d been caught, they’d be betrothed at this very moment. The idea both thrilled and terrified him. He needed time to think, to decide how to...
He shook his head. A whirlwind had taken over his life, and her name was Dalia. There. He’d admitted it. He doubted time would slow the tide of his growing feelings
for her. The truth was he didn’t want to be slowed. Did she feel the same way he did or was she more enamored with his help with fallen women than with him?
The sound of the door opening had him turning in response, welcoming the interruption from his musings, anything to keep from arriving at the conclusion staring him in the face.
“The Earl of Aberland to see you, my lord,” his footman announced.
Aberland strode forward, his expression grim. After watching the footman close the door behind him, he drew closer. “Atkins is dead.”
“What? How?”
“Murdered. His body was found in the Thames early this morning. I happened to be speaking with the prime minister when the news came in.”
Shock rolled through Spencer with the power of a steamship. “I just spoke with him a few days ago to get an update on his surveillance efforts.”
“This is a copy of what was discovered in his pocket.” He handed Spencer a note.
Mind your own business.
The sinking feeling in Spencer’s stomach had him swallowing hard. How could he not have taken more care? He should’ve warned Atkins of the danger. “Any other clues?”
“A blow to his head and several knife wounds on his body. They think he put up a good fight.”
“Damn.” Spencer ran a hand through his hair, pain filling him at the loss of both a friend and an associate.
“Obviously, we’ve managed to rattle a nerve with McCarthy if he’s taking such drastic action.”
“Perhaps. Unless Pruett resorted to murder on his own.” Spencer’s thoughts felt muddled, incoherent. All he could think of was Atkins and his impressive moustache, his clever wit. “His family?”
Aberland nodded as though pleased with Spencer’s concern. “We’re making certain they’re taken care of. As best we can, in any event.”
Spencer drew a deep breath, attempting to get his bearings. “Atkins and I had intended to meet again to compare what we’d discovered.”
“Did he mention anything specific when you last spoke? Anyone who worried him?”
Falling For The Viscount Page 23
