by Alyssa Drake
She filled her lungs as instructed, pressing her covered face against his chest. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he pulled open the door and entered the stables, a curse word exploding from his lips. Panicking, Daphne pulled the vest from her face and gasped. Flames flickered across the floor, blocking the exit to the stables and eating its way toward them. A deep cough wracked her body.
Tucking Daphne against his chest, Mr. Reid leapt over the gate to Phantom’s stall and dropped to his knees. Scuttling forward, he lifted the floorboard, stuffing Daphne into the hole. She dropped to the soft dirt below, landing on her butt. Grabbing ahold of the ladder, she climbed to her feet, covering her mouth with her arm. Staring up at the trapdoor, hay fell in piles around her. She coughed again, her eyes watering.
Mr. Reid’s sooty face appeared in the hole. “Head toward the house. Keep walking until you reach the library. The lever is along the right side of the wall. Once you trigger it, the bookshelf will slide open.”
“Where are you going?” Terror pulsed through her blood. She was going to faint. She had never fainted a day in her life, yet here she was trembling at the base of a ladder, the blackness creeping into her vision.
“I have to save the horses.” He forced a smile.
She climbed up three ladder rungs, bringing her face even with Mr. Reid, and handed him the blanket. “I am afraid for you.”
“Fire!” The word echoed outside the stables. A familiar voice… Footsteps vibrated around the perimeter, steam sizzling from where water splashed on the flames.
Leaning down, Mr. Reid pressed his lips to hers. As he pulled away, a playful grin broke out on his face. “Hold on to that for me. I shall come to collect it later this evening. Now, go.”
Climbing back down the ladder, she turned, hobbling down the tunnel, the light fading with each step. When she was twenty paces from the trapdoor, a deafening, rumbling sound echoed through the tunnel. The floor caved in, cutting Daphne off from Mr. Reid.
He was trapped in the burning stables.
Chapter Twenty
“No!” Thomas rolled backward as the floor disintegrated. Grabbing onto the stable gate, he hauled himself to his feet, staring down into the flaming hole. His heart thudded erratically. Had Miss Clemens been underneath the floor when it collapsed?
Coughing, he wrapped the blanket around his face and inched toward the gaping hole, his watering eyes peering into the darkness. There was no movement, save the flickering of the flames on jagged pieces of wood.
“Miss Clemens!” He waited. No answer. “Miss Clemens!” He coughed again. Smoke rolled through the stables.
“Mr. Reid!” Thomas spun. Appearing through the billowing smoke was a man in black, his coat pulled over his head as he dashed toward the rear of the stables.
“Mr. Davis?” His bleary vision made it impossible to recognize the man.
“Yes.” Wrapping his arm around Thomas, Mr. Davis led him from the stall.
“The horses,” choked Thomas, gesturing at the stables.
“All out,” replied Mr. Davis, snagging a second blanket from the stable gate. Unfolding it, he passed one side to Thomas. “The exit is aflame, we will have to run through the fire.”
Nodding, Thomas lifted his edge of the blanket over his head. “Do you think this will work?”
Repeating the motion, Mr. Davis exhaled slowly. He turned to Thomas, his eyes glowed. “I sincerely hope so.”
Together they rushed toward the flames, barreling through the stable doors, and crashing into a bale of hay. They rebounded, rolling apart. Sitting up, Thomas pulled the blanket from his face. He turned to Mr. Davis, whose astonished face matched his. They burst into laughter, tears streaming down their faces. Extracting a handkerchief, Mr. Davis mopped his eyes. “You are one extremely lucky man, Mr. Reid.”
Brushing the hay from his clothing, Thomas gazed at the smoldering stables. “Do you think it was intentional?”
“I do,” Mr. Davis replied.
“Miss Clemens!” Thomas leapt up. “She was in the tunnel when it collapsed.” Running toward the house, Thomas traversed the courtyard in seconds. Flying up the steps, he burst into the house, racing through the foyer, barreling through the library door. What would he do if Aunt Abigail or his mother was in the room? How would he open the passageway without them discovering the secret?
An empty room greeted him. Dashing across the room, he yanked a book forward. The bookshelf slid aside, expelling a puff of smoke and dust. Running into the tunnel, he yelled, his anxious voice echoing off the walls. “Miss Clemens! Miss Clemens!”
“Mr. Reid?” a hesitant voice called.
Hurrying blindly toward her voice, he called out again. “Miss Clemens!”
“Mr. Re—” She groaned as he crashed into her, knocking them backward. Miss Clemens hit the ground with a hard thud, Thomas landing directly on top of her. He wrapped her in his arms, his mouth finding hers. Her hands slid into his hair, drawing him closer. She was alive, and she was kissing him. Nothing else mattered, not the burning stables, not Morris’ continued threat, not even the peril of marriage. For this moment, she was his… then the moment was over too quickly.
“Miss Clemens?” Mr. Davis, called tentatively from the mouth of the tunnel, the light from his candlestick bathing the walls with warm light.
With a groan, Thomas pulled away, crawling backward off her body. He stood, helping her to her feet, then swooping her into his arms, he hurried toward the library. Mr. Davis’ worried face hovered in the entryway to the tunnel. He sighed, his posture softening when his gaze found Miss Clemens.
“Is she injured?”
Thomas was surprised by the anxiety in Mr. Davis’ tone. Did he harbor a secret affinity for Miss Clemens… or was guilt the motive for his concern?
“Are you?” Thomas glanced down, his forehead wrinkled with worry.
“No more than I was previously.” She half-smiled.
“She is not further injured; however, it is necessary I carry her.”
“As you wish.” Mr. Davis inclined his head, then spun around, leading them toward the library.
“Necessary?” Miss Clemens whispered, raising her eyebrows.
He grinned and shrugged. “Faster?”
They stepped through the entryway into the library, the bookshelf sliding closed behind them. Whipping his head to the right, Thomas grimaced as Mr. Davis dropped his hand from a book… The book. The trigger for the secret passageway.
Benjamin must have shown Mr. Davis the tunnel at some point; otherwise, how would he know? Traitor. They were sworn to secrecy. Although, Thomas had revealed the trigger to Miss Clemens… however, he suspected Miss Hastings was also aware of its existence.
“The household will be frantic.” Mr. Davis yanked open the library door, gesturing to the staircase. “Miss Clemens needs to rest. Take her upstairs. I will explain what occurred and ensure Miss Clemens is not disturbed.”
“Thank you, Mr. Davis,” Miss Clemens sighed, her body melting against Thomas’ chest.
“Have a restful evening.” Mr. Davis bowed as they passed, his eyes flicking up to Thomas. “Both of you.”
Thomas’ eyes swept the foyer as he hastened to the staircase. Not one person was in sight. He assumed most of the staff was assisting with the fire. Dashing up the stairs, he slowed his pace when he reached the hallway, stopping halfway down the corridor.
“Are you lost?” asked Miss Clemens, a hint of amusement in her question.
“I am debating which room to put you in.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Is there something wrong with my chamber?”
“No…” He dragged out the word. I would prefer to seduce you in my room, where I can lock the door. His grip tightened. “With the excitement of the evening, I fear you shall get no respite, due to the constant stream of visitors.”
“You propose to hide me?” she grinned, shifting in his arms. “I suppose you have the perfect location…”
“I do.” He lea
ned closer, lowering his voice. “My chamber.”
“You determined that as the safest place to conceal me?” Doubt laced Miss Clemens’ question.
“Who would think to look for you there?” He tilted his head. That almost sounded logical.
She chewed on her lip. “Where will you sleep?”
Next to you with my arms wrapped around your naked body… Desire engulfed his thoughts. She stared at him, innocence leaking from her brown eyes, and it was as though he plunged into freezing water. The passion cleared from his mind.
“Actually, I think it would be best if I return you to your chamber.” Stiffly, he turned, trudging toward her room. Opening the door, he walked to the bed, depositing her gently on the mattress, then forced himself to turn and march back to the door.
“Mr. Reid?” her hesitant voice called.
He paused, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes, Miss Clemens.”
“Thank you for saving my life.”
Turning, he bowed. “It was my pleasure.”
She sank her teeth into her lower lip and blushed. A quiet question floated across the room. “Would you assist me with something before you leave?”
“Certainly.” He stepped forward.
“Would you help me undress? My clothing is filthy.” She gestured at her bodice.
Thomas swallowed. “Would you not prefer a maid assist you with that task?”
“Yes, however, you are already here,”—a tiny smile lit her eyes—“and it would be faster.”
“It might also be dangerous…”
“It is a dress, Mr. Reid. What could possibly happen?”
“Matrimony.”
Miss Clemens glanced down, her hands twisting in front of her. “Is that such a dreadful thing, Mr. Reid?”
He crossed the room, dropping next to her on the bed. “I no longer know.”
Miss Clemens lifted the strands of hair which had come loose from her coif. His hands reached out, hesitating just before he touched her clothing. Exhaling, he unfastened her bodice, his fingers moving nimbly down the material, peeling it from her arms.
She shivered. Brushing his knuckles across her soft skin, Thomas bent forward, pressing his mouth to the hollow of her throat, moving along her neck, tasting her skin. She moaned. Passion raged through his blood. He needed to stop. He was going to ruin her reputation.
“Tell me to leave,” he murmured against her skin.
She cupped his cheek, lifting his eyes. Her eyes blazed. “I want you to stay.”
“I cannot.”
“I see.” She dropped her hand, turning away.
“What do you see?” he hissed, grabbing her wrist.
She offered him a tight smile. “I would never insist on matrimony, but I can understand your refusal as Aunt Abigail had clearly explained her expectations.”
“I am not refusing you.” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I am trying to protect your reputation.”
“I don’t need protection.”
“Yes, you do. Do you remember Mr. Shirely’s less than gentlemanly actions?”
She licked her lips, her voice barely audible. “You rescued me.”
“And I am rescuing you again!” He threw his hands in the air. When had he ever argued for chastity?
“From yourself?”
“Yes, I have quite a reputation.”
“I have heard it.” She rose, pacing away.
He tilted his head. “Are you curious?”
She spun, sinking her teeth into her lip again. “Yes.”
Rising, he drew her close, wrapping his arms around her waist and unfastening her skirt. He peeled the material over her hips, dropping it to the floor. She shivered, stepping out of her skirt, her wide eyes locked on him. She looked terrified
“Are you certain you want to do this?”
“I've had several near-death experiences, including one this very evening. Since Mr. Morris is fixed on revenge—”
“I will not allow him to touch you,” growled Thomas.
She leveled her gaze. “Tomorrow is the Mason Annual Hunt. The countryside will be filled with hunters… and guns. It is the perfect distraction for Mr. Morris. Do you propose to lock me in my chamber until the event is over?”
“No.” How could he have forgotten the date?
“Therefore, since there is a higher than normal chance I might perish tomorrow,”—she held up her hand, silencing his protest—“I have one more question for you.”
“Yes,” he murmured, crushing his mouth to hers. His hands slid up her body and unfastened her corset, separating the material. Breaking the kiss, he dragged in a ragged breath. She panted, her skin rouged under his assault. Pushing her gently onto the bed, he pulled the corset over her head, tossing it aside. His hands slid down her arms, drawing sensuous patterns over the exposed skin. Hooking his fingers between her hips and numerous layers of petticoats, Thomas dragged them down her legs, kneeling. Miss Clemens trembled, crossing her arms over her chemise. He stopped, her petticoats tangled around her feet, and glanced up. “Would you like me to stop?”
“No, Mr. Reid.”
“Thomas,” he replied, with a smile, stripping her shoes and petticoats in one movement. “I think we have reached that level of intimacy.”
“Thomas,” she repeated softly, her eyes locked on him. The word reverberated through his body, inciting his blood.
“Daphne.” Rising slowly, he stepped between her legs. “Take off my shirt.”
Nodding, she stood, her lip trapped between her teeth. Sliding her hands down his chest, she tentatively lifted the hem, cutting a blazing trail of passion across his chest as she lifted his shirt, dragging it off his arms, her eyes skating over his body. Reaching out, she paused a moment as if debating her action, then trailed her hesitant fingers over his stomach. He sucked in a breath.
“I’m sorry.” Miss Clemens dropped her hand. Shaking his head, he took her hand, placing it against his skin again.
“I find your touch… overwhelming,” he admitted. His mouth pulled into a half-smile. “However, that does not mean you should stop.”
Licking her lips, Miss Clemens’ fingers skated upward, her fingers brushing over his chest, igniting flames along her curious path. Bending his head, his mouth pressed against hers and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her with him as he fell onto the bed, her body melding with his. She moaned against his lips, her hands stroking over his chest. Rolling them over, he pinned her arms to the bed, his mouth traveling down her jaw and over her throat. Pulling off her chemise, his mouth closed around her breast. She gasped. Sliding his hand between them, he moved it slowly down her stomach, across her thigh, and caressed her center, one finger dipping into her warmth. Crying out, Daphne arched her back, pushing against his hand.
His finger moved in a circular motion, drawing sensual patterns over her center, his tongue dancing over her breast. Her hips ground into his hand, rocking with need. He lifted his head, his mouth brushing over her throat. “Daphne,” he whispered.
She released, her body bucking against him. His mouth covered hers, swallowing her screams. Stripping her drawers from her trembling legs, Thomas tossed them behind him. He rose, shedding his remaining clothing, and knelt between Miss Clemens’ legs, pushing them apart.
His mouth found hers again, then he thrust forward. She winced, a small cry falling from her lips. He paused, fully sheathed in her warmth and pushed up on his elbows, his eyes searching hers.
She stared back at him, her breathing shallow, the blush faded from her skin. She chewed her lower lip, a look of perplexity in her eyes. “Is that it?”
He tilted his head, his lips twitching. “Is what it?”
“Sex, was that it?”
“No, that was just the beginning.”
Her jaw dropped. “There is more?”
Grinning, he lowered his head, his mouth brushing over hers. “Much more.”
She gasped as he retracted, then without pause, drove forward again, slo
wly grinding into her pelvis. Her arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, their bodies moving in unison. She lifted her hips, meeting his next thrust, her fingernails scratching over his scalp, slipping down his back. He grabbed her arms, holding them over her head.
One hand skated down her body, folding her leg around his waist as he plunged, shoving himself deeper into her core. She groaned against his mouth, her body rising off the bed. His other hand claimed hers, folding around her fingers and squeezing tightly each time he thrust. Vibrating beneath him, her voice rose as he sank into her. His pace quickened, driving himself deeper, his own body clamoring for release.
She exploded, her screams echoing around the room. He followed her, thrusting wildly as passion overtook his senses. He released, burying himself and collapsing on top of her. They laid entwined, their ragged breathing slowing.
“That was not what I imagined it would feel like,” murmured Miss Clemens, staring at the ceiling.
Thomas pushed up on his elbows again, tracing a light symbol over her collarbone. “What did you imagine?”
She licked her lips. “I only know what I have read in books.”
He arched an eyebrow, pausing mid-caress. “Did your books tell you that can happen numerous times?”
“Numerous?” she squeaked, a delightful blush coloring her cheeks.
“Yes.” His head dipped to her breast, his mouth nibbling around the swell. “Would you like to see how many times?”
She swallowed, nodding.
“I do not care the hour, Mr. Davis!” a familiar voice rolled under the door. Thomas’ head popped up, and he froze, his eyes locked on Miss Clemens. There was no place to hide.
“Miss Clemens is resting, Mrs. Stanton. Given her horrific ordeal, I think it best she recovers without interruption.”
“She is my niece! Stand aside.” The door handle twisted, a widening sliver of light appearing on the floor. Aunt Abigail would demand immediate restitution for Thomas’ lack of judgment, not that he feared the threat of Miss Clemens as his wife. In fact, he was beginning to rather enjoy the idea of Miss Clemens, undressed and underneath him, shivering as she was at this very moment.
