by Olivia Drake
“Let’s keep mum about our little discussion though, shall we? We don’t want word reaching Mrs. Rutherford’s ears. She might be frightened by this talk of a madwoman running rampant.”
“Aye.” Lark ducked his head in an oddly guilty air. “Er, there be somethin’ else I didn’t tell ye, sir…”
But Kit’s attention was distracted by the pudgy boy standing before the wrought-iron fence. “Isn’t that Billy in front of my house?”
“Cor! The barstard was supposed t’ be guardin’ Mrs. R!”
“Guarding—?” The news caught Kit unawares. He ought to have guessed the boys’ zeal would extend to Norah as well. Another thought jolted him. Why had Billy deserted his post?
Apprehension froze Kit’s lungs. He quickened his steps, Lark running beside him. As they neared the mansion, Kit could see Billy tossing pebbles at the windows, though most of the missiles fell short.
“Here now,” Kit called. “What’s going on?”
Billy spun around in a crouch, fists raised. Then he straightened. “Oh, sir. Sir! Praise Jesus, ye’re ’ere!”
“’Course ’e’s ’ere,” Lark snapped. “What’re ye doin’ throwin’ rocks at the master’s ’ouse?”
“Bleedin’ doorman wouldn’t let me in.” Billy blubbered loudly and honked into a crumpled red kerchief. “I didn’t know ’ow else t’ signal ye, milord.”
“Signal me for what?” Kit demanded.
“’Tis Mrs. R.” The boy fell to his knees and latched onto the hem of Kit’s coat. “Sumfink turrible’s ’appened. Turrible!”
Kit yanked Billy upright. “Then for God’s sake, tell me!”
“She was at her jewel shop. I was scoutin’ the place from the alley.” Billy gulped noisily. “There were a fire! I seen it through the window!”
“When?”
“Dunno exactly, not long. When I spied the flames I come runnin’ straight ’ere fer ’elp. ’Tis the madwoman o’ Mayfair, fer sure!”
“Blinkin’ coward!” Lark cuffed the boy on the ear. “Why didn’t you stay and ’elp Mrs. R—”
“Fetch the fire brigade,” Kit snapped. “And for God’s sake keep yourselves out of trouble!”
Wheeling around, he sprinted down the sidewalk, the coat flapping around his thighs.
Dear God, let Norah be safe.
A lone hansom came down the street. He whistled. When the cab kept going, he leaped out into the road. The horse snorted and stopped, so close its plumes of warm breath enveloped Kit.
The high-seated driver waved his long whip. “’Ere now. Ye’ll git yerself killed that way.”
“I need a ride.”
“Goin’ ’ome fer the night—”
“There’s half a crown if you can get me to Rutherford Jewelers on Bond Street in under five minutes.”
“Why didn’t ye say so? ’Op in.”
Spurred by dread, Kit jumped inside. He couldn’t bear to think he might be too late already. Wheels clattering and hooves ringing, the hansom took off like a shot.
Chapter 8
Dear God, let Norah be safe.
The breakneck speed of the cab jostled Kit from one side of the small seat to the other. Frantic with worry, he kept the front window open and gripped the edge of the door. He shivered as much from fear as from the arctic wind slapping his face.
The stench of cinders tainted the air. He tried to assure himself the smell meant nothing. On this frigid February night, smoke puffed from a hundred thousand chimneys across London.
His heart thundered as fast as the hooves striking the cobbled pavement. The rough ride jarred his bones. His mind conjured the horrifying image of Norah’s charred body lying amid the smoldering ruins.
Dear God, let her be safe.
The stores and office buildings of Bond Street loomed ahead. As the cab careened around the corner, he saw a crowd gathered before the jewelry shop. Darkness shrouded the bow-front windows of the showroom. No blaze here.
But Norah’s office lay at the rear, where Billy had spied the fire.
Before the cab came to a complete halt, Kit sprang out and flipped a coin to the driver. Straining to see toward the back of the building, he glimpsed a faint glow and a sluggish cloud of black smoke.
His heart surged with renewed alarm. God, what if he was too late? Keeping his eyes peeled for Norah, he shouldered a path through the swarm of gentlemen and whores and urchins.
“I say, you trod on my foot!”
“Git t’ the back. We was ’ere first.”
Kit ignored the gibes and protests. He focused on the noise emanating from behind the shop, the shouts of men, the clamor of the fire brigade. He broke out of the throng and ran.
The constable who held back the curiosity seekers shook his truncheon. “’Ere now! You can’t go back there!”
“Out of my way.”
Kit plunged down the narrow side alley. He vaulted over piles of rubbish and half slipped in the gutter. Flying ash stung his eyes. Blinking to clear his vision, he came upon an orderly scene unlike the Hades he expected.
A pair of horse-drawn fire engines waited a short distance down the alley. Along the back wall of the shop, broken windowpanes stared like blackened eyes. Soot darkened the bricks and sparks danced in the air. The door sagged open. Down at the far corner of the building occupied by Norah’s office, several firemen aimed their long hose at the small blaze while another man pumped. Water spurted, and the flames steadily diminished.
Peering frantically around, Kit saw no sign of Norah.
He caught the arm of the stocky man directing the firemen. “Did you get everyone out?”
“The constable found the guard laying ’alf dead on the floor. Ambulance took the poor devil away.” Rubbing his begrimed face, the fire chief added, “Got lucky on this one. Somebody called the alarm on one of them newfangled telephones. We was ’ere lickety split.”
“What about Mrs. Rutherford? Did you see her?”
“Mrs. ’Oo?” The fire chief frowned. “Oh, you mean that ’andsome, red-haired lady who says she owns the place?”
“That’s her.”
He snorted. “Tried to run back inside—after jewels, I think she said. Feather-witted female. I sent ’er up to the street to wait with the constable.” The chief shook a filthy finger. “You oughta get up there, too, sir.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Half overjoyed and half uneasy, Kit stepped back. Norah hadn’t been out front. Christ, she wouldn’t really be foolish enough to venture back inside, would she?
Bilious fear lurched in him. Whenever she spoke of the shop, fervor lit her eyes. Yes, she might indeed put herself in peril.
He glanced back. At the end of the building, the firemen were engrossed in battling the remnants of the fire. When the chief turned away, Kit darted to the door and slipped inside.
The hellish glow flickered through the smoky interior of the workroom. From what little he could see, the fire was confined to the office area. Embers sizzled and popped under the hissing stream of water. Fleetingly he wondered how the blaze had begun. A dropped lamp or a spark from the hearth could ignite an inferno. Or perhaps a flammable substance used in jewelry making.
Acrid cinders darkened the air. Coughing, Kit pulled his scarf over his nose and ducked low to avoid the worst of the smoke. Even so, his throat burned and his mouth tasted of ashes.
Jewels, the chief had said. Norah must have gone to the showroom. Damn her, Kit thought in sudden savagery. As soon as he found her, he’d shake sense into her pretty head.
Unless she lay somewhere in the gloom here. Unconscious...or dead.
Eyes slitted, he hastened across the workroom. He stubbed his leg on the sharp corner of a table and cursed. His groping hands located a doorknob, cool to his touch. The gloomy passage led to the front of the shop.
He shut the door behind him. The smoke thinned. The distant shouts of the firemen masked his footsteps. Using the wall as a guide, he felt his way forward. A glimmer penet
rated the haze.
Before he reached the showroom, he came upon a walk-in vault lined with steel drawers. On the center table a candle guttered, its yellow light penetrating the fine mist of ash in the air.
And near the wall knelt Norah.
Exultation halted him. Her ebony gown pooled around her, she was concentrating on wrestling free a jammed drawer. Soot smudged her alabaster complexion. A scowl pleated her smooth brow. Uttering a sigh, she paused to massage the side of her head, further mussing the untidy mass of red curls that tumbled down her slender back.
She had never looked lovelier.
Norah shoved at the drawer again. It slammed shut. Then she plucked a key from the ring dangling chatelaine-style from her waist. Metal grated as she opened the next drawer down.
Bits of green scattered the black-lined interior. Quickly she began scooping the emeralds into a sack.
Like a match flaring, fury scorched Kit. While the place burned around her ears, she coolly collected her plunder.
He strode into the vault. “What the devil do you think you’re doing?”
She spun on her haunches. She clutched the bag in one grimy hand and the emeralds in the other. Her eyes, as jewel-bright as the stones, rounded in surprise.
“Kit!”
Her familiar use of his name, the husky rasp of her voice, barely penetrated his anger. He snatched the sack from her. “Have you gone mad? Get out of here.”
She shot to her feet. “This is my shop. You’ve no right to order me around. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I’m trying to keep you safe. You’re risking your life to save a pile of damned stones.”
“The fire’s under control. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Are you?” With each sentence, he jabbed his finger toward her face. “The flames could flare up again. You could be trapped in here. You could die from inhaling the smoke.”
Norah knocked his hand away. “It’s a risk I have to take. The back door is broken and I haven’t a guard. Didn’t you see all the people out there?” She waved toward the front of the building. “As soon as the firemen leave, they’ll loot my shop.”
“For God’s sake, there’s a constable.
“And what about when he leaves?” She clasped her hand to her breast, emeralds glinting between her sooty fingers, the gold wedding band smudged. “As God is my witness, I won’t let anyone steal what belongs to me.”
An impassioned glow lit her features, a glow Kit ached to inspire. Frustration sizzled through him. He wished she would hug him as tightly as those stones. “Damn your jewels to hell.”
He pried open her fingers. Gems went flying, clattering over the carpeted floor, winking green in the candlelight.
“How dare you!” Firing a deadly look at him, Norah dropped to her hands and knees and began gathering up the emeralds. “Do you have any idea what these stones are worth? But, of course, you wouldn’t care. You have money to burn. Well, I don’t.”
Riveted by her provocative posture, Kit barely heard. Her hiked-up hem revealed the shapeliness of her ankles. Enhanced by the bustle, her derriere wiggled invitingly. Her hair bobbed around her in long corkscrews of fire.
Fury and desire seared a path to his groin. He wanted to undo the row of jet buttons down her back, to unlace her tight corset, to slide his hands around her unbound breasts. He wanted her to crawl naked over his hot body instead of chasing after cold rocks.
To hell with gentlemanly restraint.
He dropped the sack and pulled Norah up, catching her between himself and the wall of steel drawers. She dropped the gems and thrust her palms against his chest.
Eyes widening, she began, “What do you think you’re—”
He slid his fingers into her hair, tilted her head back, and let his kiss answer her. The breath left her in a warm gust of shock that filled him with her scent of cinders and roses. Taking advantage of her parted lips, he ran the tip of his tongue along the inside of her mouth, exploring her moistness, coaxing her toward arousal. He refused to think about any blaze beyond the one inside his body. He refused to consider that Norah might despise him when she came to her senses. He cared only about the lustful urges driving him and the brilliant splendor of kissing her at last.
She stood as stiff as a china doll within his embrace. Her fingers convulsed around his shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. The heat of his anger funneled into the fierce desire to feel her soften and respond. He deepened the kiss, using skills developed over a decade of wooing ladies whose scruples demanded a token resistance. His tongue commenced a slow dance, withdrawing from her mouth, then dipping inside again, the rhythm an erotic echo of lovemaking.
She turned her head away, though her fingers continued to hold tight to him. “Don’t,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”
Despite her husky protest, the swiftness of her breathing encouraged him. He sensed the indecision in her, the voluptuous desires rising against rigid morals. Her body exuded a torrid sensuality that excited him to a fever pitch. Cradling her neck with one hand, he nuzzled his lips along her soot-streaked jaw to her ear, where he brushed aside a curled lock of hair and let his breath tickle her. His lips nibbled the tenderness of her skin, his tongue finding the delicate whorls of her ear.
A shiver rippled through her. “Kit,” she moaned on a warm exhalation. “Oh, please...”
“Please go on?” he said silkily. “My pleasure.”
He moved his mouth to hers again, seducing her with all the fire in his blood, with all the mastery of a rogue. All the women he had kissed before were mere appetizers before the feast of Norah. Against his chest, he could feel the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. His hands slid down her arms, followed the corset-defined shape of her bosom and waist, then reached with practiced ease beneath her bustle to discover the pliant curve of her buttocks. Despite the impediment of their clothing, he lifted her to him, rubbing his hardness against the nest of her femininity. The exquisite friction wrested a groan from him.
Norah jerked her face away. The back of her head banged against the metal drawers. Her fists battered his jaw and jolted him back to reality. “Stop it. Stop!”
More surprised than hurt, Kit stepped back. She scrambled away, stumbling on the hem of her gown and catching herself with a hand on the table. She brought herself up straight. Her eyes were wild, her cheeks flushed, her bosom heaving.
“Don’t you understand the meaning of the word no?” she cried out. “I asked you to stop and I meant it.”
The vehemence of pain in her voice shocked Kit. He reached his hand to her. “I’m sorry, Norah—”
“Stay away.” She retreated until her spine met the back wall of the vault. Then she crossed her arms over her breasts as if to ward off attack. “Stay away, you blackguard! Or I’ll scream!”
Awareness chilled his ardor. He had misinterpreted her response. Her shiver had been one of disgust, not passion. His kiss had revolted her. The bitter taste of ash in his mouth came from more than the smoky haze. Christ, she must think him a callous heathen. Like so many others, she must loathe his mixed blood.
Yet the tense quality about her reached past his torment. Genuine fright lurked beneath her bravado. She watched him with the vigilance of a rabbit facing a tiger.
Perhaps more than prejudicial disgust sparked her violent reaction. She was a grieving widow. He had far overstepped his bounds. Damn, he had forsaken his vow to slowly reveal his love and her need.
Or did another reason lie behind her panic? Had she never known the pleasures of the sexual act?
Kit doused his burning curiosity. “You needn’t be afraid of me,” he said gently. “I’m not the madman of Mayfair.”
She held her head high. “I know that. But I still didn’t want you to kiss me.”
“I respect your choice—”
“You didn’t a minute ago.”
“Despite your low opinion of me, I’ve yet to force a woman.”
“Then don’t touch me ever
again.”
Her sharp tone speared him. Breathing deeply against the pain, he gambled on the truth. “I can’t make you a promise like that. Norah, I find you very attractive—”
“Save your glib compliments for your next paramour.”
“I’m not spouting empty words, I’m being frank. I’ve never met a woman like you before. I admire more than your physical beauty. I admire your talent and your strength and your tender heart.”
Her lips parted. Her eyes softened in confusion. Taking a step closer, he lowered his voice. “I’ve no desire to hurt you or frighten you. But if you ever give me the slightest encouragement, I will kiss you again.”
The rigidity eased from her posture and she lowered her arms. She met his gaze squarely. Curls shimmering around her shoulders, she shook her head in quick, decisive denial. “I shan’t ever offer you encouragement. So that’s that.”
“I think I made that too easy for you,” Kit muttered, half regretting his spurt of honesty. “You certainly know how to deflate a man’s self-assurance.”
“That’s all you really want, someone to stroke your male conceit. A woman who will pamper you, a woman who exists only to please you.” Norah plucked an emerald from the floor and rolled it between her fingers. “Well, I have a life beyond being a man’s possession. I won’t be your next conquest.”
Irritated, he paced the small vault. The knowledge that he’d blackened his own reputation dogged his heels. “I never said I wanted to conquer you. Can’t we meet as equals?”
“Hah. Your definition of equal is a woman willing to shed her clothes as quickly as you.”
“For God’s sake, it was only a kiss,” he shot back. “Didn’t you enjoy kissing your husband?”
The wary look returned to her eyes. Her hand convulsed around the green stone. “I’ll thank you not to curse.”
“You’re evading my question.”
She kept her chin lifted. A pink flush underlay the smudges on her cheeks. “And you’re prying where you’re not welcome.”
“How the devil else am I to understand you? You certainly don’t volunteer any information.”
“There’s nothing I want to tell you.”
