by Olivia Drake
Kit blew out a sound of disgust. “Fine. So let’s get out of here, then.” Striding to the door, he peered out. A thin haze of smoke obscured the corridor. He could still hear the muted calls of the firemen, the crackle of distant flames.
“I shan’t budge until I have all my jewels,” Norah said.
“I’ll send over a few of my footmen to watch the shop tonight. Perhaps that will convince you to save your own life.”
Her fists met her hips. “Thank you, but I can take care of myself.”
“Oh?” He let his voice convey disbelief. “You’ll empty the rest of the drawers, gather up the jewelry from the showroom, then carry it home all by yourself?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll have quite a few sacks to lift. Suppose a footpad decides to relieve you of your burden?”
“That isn’t your concern.”
Norah made no move to collect her treasure trove. She fingered the key ring at her waist. A familiar stubborn line firmed her lips.
Lips he ached to kiss again, despite her infuriating independence. One taste of her luscious warmth had whetted his appetite. But he might as well wish for a piece of the moon.
Frustration broke the thread of his restraint. “Why can’t you accept help from anyone? Or is it just me you despise?”
She stood quietly, a cinder-smudged goddess cloaked in copper hair. Her direct gaze wavered, her luxurious lashes lowered. She bent to pick up the sack of gems.
“All right,” she murmured, “I accept your offer.”
Her heart thrumming, Norah peered out the window of the carriage the next day. Her breath misted the cold glass, and she rubbed it with the heel of her gloved hand. Through the swirl of snow flurries, she glimpsed the opulent town homes of Mayfair. She must be nearing Berkeley Square.
Nervousness tickled like a thousand beating wings in her stomach. She smoothed her crape-trimmed mantle and her best black velvet gown beneath. She had taken special care with her appearance. This morning she had lingered in the bath for a full hour, scrubbing the ashy stench from her skin and hair. She had drawn up her unruly tresses into a looser, softer style.
A style that would please a connoisseur of women. Kit Coleridge appreciated femininity. Today, she desperately needed to charm him.
I admire more than your physical beauty. I admire your talent and your strength and your tender heart.
He mouthed empty flattery, honeyed phrases meant to lure her into his trap. Or was he sincere?
Dear Blessed Virgin. She no longer knew what to think of him. His earthy nature both intrigued and alarmed her. His honesty and vulnerability rattled all her preconceptions of him. She itched for pencil and paper with which to capture his fascinating facets.
Norah absently massaged the soreness at the right side of her head. After a sleepless night she knew the futility of trying to dam the flood of memory. His kiss had shaken her, the bold caress of his hands, the shocking invasion of his tongue. The profound experience sent hot-cold tingles over her skin.
Whenever you’re ready to learn my definition of a kiss, I’ll be happy to oblige you.
She closed her eyes. Now she understood Kit’s meaning, and knew why he’d been amused by her offended reaction to his lips on her brow. Maurice had never kissed her intimately. Her husband had never kissed her at all, other than an occasional dry peck on the cheek. On the rare occasions when he exercised his conjugal rights, he had turned out the lights and removed his robe in the darkness...
The shadows in her mind shifted. She lay waiting in bed, but the rustle of clothing came from Kit. He slid naked beneath the covers and reached for her. He immersed her mouth in another drowning kiss. His fingers glided sure and strong up her bare legs. Then he positioned her to receive his burning invasion . . .
Shuddering, Norah opened her eyes. The sensation was not entirely born of revulsion. The hint of trembly excitement baffled her. Praise God, she was free. She would never, ever submit to physical intimacy again.
Her breath formed a cloud in the chilly air. Besides, Kit Coleridge used women. She discounted his protestations to the contrary. A man couldn’t change. The heart-wrenching early years of her marriage had taught her the futility of attempting to reshape a man’s basic nature.
Therefore, his kiss should have insulted her. She should have been outraged. Why hadn’t she instantly drawn away? Why had she felt the dark pull of curiosity? Why had she longed to melt in his arms and let him have his wicked way?
And why was she thinking about his kiss when she had more vital problems at stake?
Kit had caught her at a vulnerable moment. A moment when her hopes and dreams, her newfound liberty, teetered on the brink of catastrophe. Dear God. She might yet tumble into the chasm of poverty. And drag Winnifred and Ivy into ruin with her.
No. Her plan would succeed. It must succeed.
She rubbed her aching head again. Count your blessings, old Sister Simone used to scold. Things could be worse. At least the thief hadn’t broken into the vault or looted the showroom. She must have surprised him right after he’d knocked out poor Captain Ackerman. Thankfully the fire had frightened the man away. She repressed a swell of panic and fear. Lord, she had had a run of bad luck...her husband murdered and now a fire at the shop, all in a little over a month. But she mustn’t dwell upon the hideous episodes. Better she should focus on the task at hand.
Why can’t you accept help from anyone? Or is it just me you despise?
The raw pain in Kit’s voice still shamed her. Norah shifted on the cold leather seat. She also recalled the hurt on his face when she had called him a blackguard. Despite his unsavory reputation, he possessed his own brand of honor. She, who prided herself on ladylike virtues, had behaved like an ungrateful wretch.
But perhaps he would give her a second chance. It was her only hope.
Fingers trembling, she caressed her costly amethyst necklace. One of her favorites, the design of deep purple stones formed a garland scattered across a silver trellis framework. She wore the gems for the last time. Beginning tomorrow, she would exercise every economy. Her precious collection of jewelry would be returned to the shop. The carriage would be sold. She could make do with a hired hansom or the public omnibus. Winnifred would complain about the frugality, but so be it.
The carriage rocked to a halt before Kit’s towering gray stone mansion. The butterflies in her stomach took flight again. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself that she was safe. Kit had promised never to force her into a physical relationship. She believed him. So she had nothing to fear.
Norah silently reviewed her tactics. She would be cool, businesslike. She would state her case in persuasive words. She would reveal no hint of the chaos his kiss had stirred in her.
Determination sustained her as she went up the steps. A poker-faced butler took her wrap, ushered her into the library, and shut the double doors.
Kit’s domain. She had been here once before, the morning after the murder. That day she had been too distraught to form more than a fleeting impression of a masculine den. In the air she detected the faint aroma of leather and musk, the scents she associated with Kit. Restless, she wandered to one of the tall bookshelves and scanned the eclectic titles, from a well-thumbed volume of Geological Evidences of the Antiquity of Man by Charles Lyell to a rare edition of Milton’s Paradise Lost. For a man who followed the superficial pursuits of a lothario, he took an interest in profound topics.
The indistinct scratching of handwriting indented the leather pad on the desk. A haphazard collection of fountain pens stood in a cup of Chinese porcelain; splotches of black ink marred the blue-on-white design.
She picked up a silver-framed photograph of a family. Unlike the typical stiff studio pose, these people exuded a lively joy that caught at her heart. The blond woman rested her head on her husband’s broad shoulder. Both smiled down at the six children gathered around the garden bench. The tallest boy, as dark-haired as his father, tweaked one of his sister’s fa
ir ringlets.
Kit. Even as a youth, he’d been uncommonly handsome and an incorrigible tease. How disconcerting to think of him as part of a large, loving family. Perhaps he did possess a hidden capacity for faithfulness.
I’d like to find a special woman and marry her, start a family of my own.
Yearning puddled within Norah as she remembered his casual announcement. She had focused her girlish dreams on a similar goal. But fate had rendered her body barren.
Regretfully she set down the photograph. She would find contentment in her jewelry designing. She would become the greatest jeweler in the empire. Her plan depended upon making this interview a success.
Another flurry of misgivings unsettled her. What was keeping Kit?
She opened the doors and peered out. The sound of footsteps drew her attention to the opulent staircase. Surprise jabbed her. Down the marble steps glided the Honorable Jane Bingham.
A pair of doves made of ostrich tips wagged in her fair hair. An evening gown of blue tulle dotted by white velvet bows adorned her voluptuous body. Her décolletage displayed a generous portion of her bosom. The frock was unsuitable for the afternoon...or perhaps Jane had worn the dress the night before and was just now going home. Norah felt instantly dowdy, like a black crow eyeing a fine bluebird.
Behind Jane, Kit descended the stairs. Irritation firmed his high cheekbones and thinned his mouth. The gaslight burnished his bronzed skin. The pearl-gray suit and white cravat magnified his swarthy handsomeness. He and Jane made a beautiful couple, she so pale and he so dark.
They must have come from his bedroom. So much for his avowal that he’d ended their liaison. Perhaps Jane was the woman he’d chosen to marry.
Norah wondered why the truth hurt. His personal affairs didn’t involve her. After all, she had secrets of her own.
Jane sailed across the foyer. “Ah, Mrs. Rutherford. What a delight to see you again.”
“Good afternoon,” Norah managed stiffly.
“Poor darling, you look devastated. The marquess told me all the pitiful details of last night’s tragic fire.” Jane tossed a sultry smile over her bare shoulder at Kit, then looked back at Norah. “Kit and I do like to share.”
A hint of color washed his cheeks. “You were on your way out.”
His teak-dark fingers curled possessively around Jane’s white arm. Violent resentment attacked Norah.
She clenched the velvet folds of her gown to keep from clawing both their faces. Blast him for discussing her personal life with his hussy. Her veins iced. Had he also told Jane about that kiss?
As they started toward the door, Norah called out, “Oh, Miss Bingham. I haven’t yet thanked you for your charming gift.”
Jane loosed a trill of laughter. “Ah yes, the unmentionables. I do hope I didn’t shock you.”
“Not at all. You’ll be pleased to know I’ve already put them to good use.” By throwing the condoms at Kit, Norah thought.
Jane’s mouth pinched into a tart line. “You and I should have tea in a few months. We’ll have so much more in common. After all, Kit will be sniffing after a new bitch by then—”
“That’s enough,” he snapped.
“She deserves to know—
“Get out.”
“But you haven’t ordered my carriage brought round—”
“Now.”
The butler appeared and handed Jane her wrap. She marched out into a blast of snow flurries. The slam of the door echoed in the cavernous hall.
A muscle worked in Kit’s jaw as he strode to Norah. Large and masculine, he loomed over her. His nearness made her quake. His tiger’s eyes moved keenly over her fancy gown and her amethysts, then bored into her face.
“What’s wrong?” he said. “Did you have a problem with the new guards you hired?”
He made no move to touch her. After the shattering kiss of the night before, Norah had trouble meeting his dark gaze. “No. They came highly recommended by the agency you suggested. And the carpenter has repaired the door already.”
“What about the broken windows?”
“The glazier started work this morning, too. The building should be secure by evening. Of course, the fire and smoke damage still remain to be assessed...” The thought of her mission dried her throat. “May we speak in private? I have a matter of importance to discuss with you.”
“Of course.” His hand warm at her waist, he guided her into the library. “I have something to tell you, too.”
His words jolted her. Would he announce that he had patched up his rift with Jane?
The instant they entered the room, he left Norah’s side, as if he detested the need for gentlemanly courtesy. He acted so formal, unlike the ardent man who had trapped her against the wall last night and caressed her as if she were his own precious jewel.
Her heart throbbed in the hollow of her chest. Too agitated to sit, she went to the hearth. “Please pardon me for arriving without notice. I didn’t mean to interrupt your...meeting.”
Kit stood with his hands gripping the gilded back of a chair. “You didn’t. As I said, Jane was on her way out.”
“Oh.” Unable to stop herself, Norah blurted, “I thought you weren’t seeing her anymore.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t interested in my private affairs.”
“Miss Bingham’s presence took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“Indeed? No doubt you expected a whole parade of women to come trooping out of my bedroom.”
Her cheeks heated. “I had no expectations whatsoever.”
“Then perhaps you’d be interested to know why I sent for Jane—”
“You needn’t recount all the details,” Norah said quickly. “Unlike Miss Bingham, I don’t thrive on gossip.”
He grimaced. “Believe me, I know. However, there is one item of interest to you.” He leaned forward, his gaze intent. “If you’ve been wondering how the newspapers found out about the murder, Jane leaked the story.”
Norah wilted onto a leather chair across from him. “Are you sure?”
“She admitted as much. I warned her that if she plays any more tricks on either of us, I’ll make damned certain that not even a cabbage farmer will take her into his bed.”
“But why would she want to hurt me? Surely she knows that you and I aren’t...involved.”
“Contrary to what she claims, I’ve told her nothing about us, beyond mentioning the fire. Nevertheless, she was shrewd enough to guess that I broke off with her because of you, Norah.”
His hard-chiseled features showed only aloofness. The frostiness of her rejection must have killed his attraction to her. She ought to rejoice. Instead, a peculiar sensation of loss settled like a rock in her stomach.
Unable to look at him, she lowered her eyes. At their first meeting, Kit had been standing by the very chair in which she sat. He’d been unshaven and tousled, his smile boyishly charming. She feathered her fingertips over the fine lace draping the leather arm. Oddly, she didn’t remember these doilies positioned here.
She sat up straight. “This is Ivy’s handiwork.”
“Yes.”
Tenderness as soft as cat’s paws padded into her heart. “How kind of you to display it.”
He prowled to the desk and toyed with the pens there. “God forbid you should mistake me for a compassionate man. She gave me a few pieces the last time I took tea with her, that’s all.”
He spoke curtly as if to minimize his softness. Because he was embarrassed to show sensitivity? She wished she knew him well enough to guess. “Ivy didn’t mention you’d come by. When did you see her last?”
“Yesterday, while you were working late.” He let the fountain pen clatter back into the porcelain cup. “Norah, why don’t you get to the point?”
“What point?”
“Tell me why you’re here, all dressed up in jewels and velvet.” His hard gaze slid up and down her, like a gem cutter examining an imperfect stone. “Did you want something from me?�
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The blunt question flustered her. She touched her necklace for courage. Matching six-carat drops dangled from her earlobes. For the first year of mourning, a widow was allowed to wear only simple pieces made of jet or onyx. But Norah wanted to look her best today. She wanted to appear prosperous, as if she didn’t need him. The masquerade formed part of her stratagem.
Kit leaned against the desk. A forbidding expression shadowed his masculine features. His arms were folded across his wide chest. Blessed Virgin, he appeared in no mood to grant favors. Especially to the woman who’d rebuffed him.
But she couldn’t retreat now. She had nowhere else to turn.
Moistening her parched lips, she groped for her memorized speech. “I did come here to ask you something,” she admitted. “But first, I must apologize for my rude behavior last night. You were gracious enough to offer your help, and I should have accepted immediately.”
“I see.”
“I can only plead that I was shaken by the traumatic events.”
“Are you referring to the fire? Or my kiss?”
“Both. I mean, the fire,” she amended quickly. “You see, if the stones had been stolen, I would have been left in dire financial straits.”
“Surely you’re insured.”
She shook her head. “Maurice didn’t believe in insurance. Just as he didn’t believe in accountants. Apparently he preferred to retain complete control of the business.”
“That’s utter nonsense. Insurance is a sensible practice.”
“I agree.” Scouring the bitterness from her voice, she twisted her gold wedding band. “Over the past few weeks I’ve been finding out all sorts of oddities about my husband’s methods of business.”
“Such as?”
She hesitated. Voicing the facts gave her a vague feeling of disloyalty, as if she were betraying Maurice’s memory. “For one, the bank had refused to lend him any more money. And for another, he’d gone to a usurer in order to pay off his...our debts.”
Kit narrowed his eyes. “Debts? I was under the impression that the shop was doing well—at least up until his death.”
