A thought that should have made him shudder in horror, but instead sent a fierce satisfaction soaring through his heart.
There was no woman he would rather have as the mother of his children.
“Sweet, so sweet,” he choked out, holding her tight as they slowly floated back to earth together.
Pressing her face into his shoulder Jane slowly struggled to regain her composure. Then, with obvious reluctance she leaned back to regard him with a somber expression.
“Hellion . . .”
“I know, I know,” he wryly interrupted, pressing a brief kiss upon her lips. On this occasion he was prepared for his practical, always logical shrew. “We must return before we are missed.”
“Yes.”
Heaving a deep sigh, Hellion pulled himself from her warmth and lowered her feet to the floor. Damn and blast, he wished they were already wed. That way he could easily sweep her away from the tedious ball and off to the privacy of their bed. As sated as he might feel at this moment, he knew it would only take a kiss from those maddening lips to have him aroused and ready once again.
Covertly watching her fumble with her clothing as he straightened his own, Hellion smiled with an unwitting tenderness.
He was uncertain when this tiny, unpredictable creature had become an essential part of his life. He only knew that she was.
And the sooner he had a ring upon her finger the better.
Fussing with her hair she sent him a rather nervous glance. “I think it best that I return alone.”
He gave a lift of his shoulder. He was quite prepared to let everyone in the ballroom know what they had been up to; indeed, it would suit him to perfection. But the thought of embarrassing Jane kept his possessive urges at bay.
“As you wish.”
“Hellion . . .”
“Yes, my love?”
She regarded him for a long moment before giving a slow shake of her head. “’Tis nothing.”
The faintest trickle of unease tarnished his glow of deep satisfaction.
“You are certain?” he demanded, not at all caring for the thought she might be hiding something from him.
“I am certain.” Patting her hair to make certain it was all in place, she caught him off guard by stepping forward and touching her lips softly to his own.
Instinctively he reached out to tug her close, but already she was moving away. In silence he watched her unlock the door and then with a last glance slip out of the room.
For a moment Hellion wavered, his thoughts dwelling on her brief hesitation. What had she been about to say? Was she still uncertain? Did she still question him? Did she still believe that she could possibly live without him?
Giving a shake of his head Hellion sternly dismissed the unnerving questions. After tonight Jane could not possibly possess doubts. They were perfect for one another. Not only in the physical sense, but upon a deeper level that he could not even explain.
Besides which, she might very well be carrying his child, he acknowledged rather smugly.
She could have no option but to become his wife.
Feeling his earlier good will returning, Hellion carefully tugged his cravat high enough to hide the marks Jane had left upon his neck.
Ah yes, the future was most definitely written in stone.
And what a delicious future it promised to be.
Not far from Charing Cross Road the aged brick building stood with molding dignity. The mullioned windows reflected the gray sky in sullen reproach, while the baronial stateliness maintained a snobbish distance from its more flamboyant neighbors.
Allowing her agent to open the door, Jane was not surprised to discover herself greeted by a cloud of dust and cobwebs. It had been over a year since the once-grand coffeehouse had closed its doors for the last time.
Although it was a historic treasure, the owner, Mr. Christian, was incapable of holding back the tide of change.
It was not his fault.
He could not compete against the flourishing gentlemen’s clubs that lured away customers with the promise of aristocratic seclusion. Nor the cheaper gin houses that catered to the poor and desperate. Even worse, the entire neighborhood had been ravaged by the flight of the wealthy toward the West End of London.
The few buildings that had remained intact now housed brothels or, worse, opium dens that had put paid to Mr. Christian’s few loyal customers.
What respectable person would even enter such a neighborhood?
Wrinkling her nose at the musty scent, Jane paused to allow her eyes to adjust to the gloom within. At her side the slender, silver-haired land agent pulled out his notebook and pencil as he prepared to meticulously inventory the various contents left behind.
“As you can see the former tenant left most of the furnishings.” He pointed toward the small tables and chairs set about the outer room. “I would suggest we sell them at auction.”
Jane pushed off her bothersome bonnet and settled her thoughts to the business at hand. It was usually an easy task, but this morning she found it astonishingly difficult.
No, not so astonishing, she wryly conceded.
What woman could possibly concentrate upon a dusty old building when her body still ached from Hellion’s fierce seduction? It would be far more astonishing if she weren’t forced to battle the urge to grin like a looby. Or to have her thoughts drift back to the delicious sensations that had made her bones melt.
Still, she had no desire to worry her agent that she had completely taken leave of her senses. And in truth, she simply desired to be done with her morning work so she could return to her home and consider her future.
A future that was still too uncertain for a woman who had always known precisely her path in life.
Giving a shake of her head she peeled off her gloves. “You do not believe we shall increase the value of the building by leaving the furnishings intact?”
“To be honest, Miss Middleton, I do not believe it would make a farthing of difference. The place is worthless except for the land it stands upon. And even that is declining with every passing year.”
“A pity.” Jane cast a sad glance toward the open-timbered roof that was nearly black with layers of soot. “This once was a landmark of London. My father told me that Sir Walter Raleigh and even Shakespeare could be found seated near the window.”
The agent gave a sympathetic sigh, his gaze flicking over the worn planks to linger upon the heavy pewter plates that were placed with pride above the enormous fireplace.
“The price of progress, I suppose,” he murmured.
“Yes.” Jane shrugged. “And rather shameful profit. At the moment this building is a worthless waste of my resources.”
“Far better to sell before all hopes of a buyer are lost.”
Jane had to agree. Whatever her fondness for the coffeehouse, it was absurd to hang on to the place out of mere sentimentality.
In silent agreement the two wandered toward the heavy mahogany counter at the back of the long room, occasionally pausing to study the names, many of them of famous actors, painters, and politicians of a distant age, that had been scratched onto the wooden tabletops.
They were sifting through the numerous etchings that had been piled near the fireplace when the door to the building was unexpectedly thrust open.
With a startled blink Jane turned about, her heart coming to a sharp halt at the large, gloriously familiar male form that stepped over the threshold.
Hellion.
Unable to help herself, Jane discovered her gaze hungrily sweeping over the black breeches, his ivory waistcoat, and the crisp perfection of his dove-gray coat. Simple attire that emphasized rather than detracted from the graceful lines of his hard body.
Her gaze skimmed higher, lingering upon the elegant beauty of his male features and the wicked temptation of his dark eyes that smoldered with a restless power even in the dim shadows.
He was the undoubted fantasy of every woman. Was it any wonder that she felt the ur
ge to babble and swoon like a goosecap when he was near?
The silence stretched as they regarded one another, a slow devilish smile at last curving his lips as a hint of color touched her cheeks.
Blast the arrogant man. He knew precisely how his appearance was making her heart race and her stomach quiver with awareness.
Still holding her gaze he performed a small bow. “Good morning, Jane.”
“Hellion.” Sharply aware of the agent’s curiosity at the unexpected intrusion, Jane moved across the floor to stand before him. “Whatever are you doing here?”
Turning he reached behind him to lift the basket he had left outside the door.
“I am attempting to save you from your own foolishness.”
She frowned, finding it difficult to adjust to Hellion’s sudden arrival. Since coming to London she had attempted to keep her role as a powerful financier carefully separate from that of her role as débutante. Not only because most of society found her business connections so distasteful, but also to be able to keep her thoughts focused when she was making decisions that were worth a vast fortune.
It was distinctly unsettling to have Hellion enter this separate part of her life.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I spoke with your housekeeper, who assured me that you had left this morning without so much as a nibble of toast.”
She shrugged. “I overslept and was late for my appointment with Mr. Steinman.”
“Indeed.” He leaned close enough for her to catch the scent of freshly scrubbed male skin. “Whyever would you have overslept?”
His murmured innuendo sent a rash of prickles through her body. Oh my. This was precisely why it was not wise to have him near. Not, at least, while she was in the process of conducting business. Or walking. Or eating. Or attempting to breathe . . .
“Hellion, I think it best if you . . .”
Her words were cut off as he laid a finger across her lips. “I promise to be upon my very best behavior.”
She arched her brows at his soft words. “I believe we have already concluded that your best behavior is nothing to console me.”
“Ah, but I have brought with me a delicious luncheon.” He lifted the lid of the basket to allow a most tempting aroma to fill the air. “Thinly sliced ham, lobster in butter, bread warm from the oven, and apple tarts.”
“A blatant bribe,” she chided, even as her stomach loudly growled and her mouth watered. It had been hours since she had last eaten.
His lips twitched at her traitorous belly. “I could hardly depend solely upon my irresistible charm, not when it comes to you, my shrew.”
Tell him to go away, her more logical mind whispered. It was a poor notion to mix business and this potent male. But meeting his dark, smoldering gaze she felt her logic evaporating with astonishing speed.
What could be the harm? She had already made her decision regarding the building. There was little left to do but begin the inventory.
“Very well,” she agreed, turning to walk back toward the center of the room. “I am nearly finished here.”
Following in step behind her Hellion suddenly gave a low whistle. “Good Lord, this is the old coffeehouse, is it not?”
“It was. It has been empty for the past year.”
“Are you intending to reopen it?”
She cast him a startled glance over her shoulder. “Good heavens, no. If Mr. Christian could not maintain a profitable business I should have no hope of doing so.”
He frowned as he glanced about the shadowed interior. “Then why are you here?”
“The building was purchased by my father nearly thirty years ago. Now I intend to sell it.”
Surprisingly Hellion came to a sudden halt, his brows snapping together.
“You must be jesting?”
Turning to face him Jane regarded him in open puzzlement. “Why?”
“This building is a part of London,” he protested. “My father used to entertain me with stories of the days he would devote here, along with any number of nobles and artists and actors. Do you know that Mr. Christian refused to offer more than thirty chairs and when they were filled one was forced to wait in the streets until a seat became vacant? He claimed the only reason he ever rose before noon was to ensure a seat near the window.”
Jane smiled rather wistfully, almost able to see the distant ghosts laughing and shouting at passing pedestrians.
“All in the past now, I fear. No one is willing to travel these streets.”
“They are a bit shabby, I admit, but . . .”
“Hellion,” she interrupted with a hint of impatience, “the buildings on either side are brothels, and just down the street is a well-known opium den. All hint of respectability has been tarnished beyond repair.”
Oddly reluctant to concede to her more experienced judgment Hellion gave a lift of his hands.
“What are a few brothels?”
She gave a choked laugh. “Only a man would ask such a question.”
“Granted it might be difficult to lure proper ladies to such a neighborhood, but there are few men who would feel such delicate distaste,” he insisted. “You must simply concentrate upon a business that caters to gentlemen.”
“Such as?”
“A gentleman’s club, or a private gambling hell,” he promptly retorted.
Jane was caught off guard. It did not seem at all like Hellion to waste his thoughts on something so mundane as an empty building. Perhaps the sentimental value of his father’s long-ago stories had stirred a sense of possessive attachment to the place.
Unnoticed by either Jane or Hellion, Mr. Steinman stepped up beside them, his lips pursed in thought.
“’Tis not a bad notion, Miss Middleton,” he said.
Jane turned to regard her agent with a frown. “What?”
He nervously cleared his throat. “It would be a shame to see an end to such a long-standing establishment. With a bit of work it could be brought back to its former glory.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes heavenward. It was obvious both gentlemen were attempting to be of service. Unfortunately neither of them seemed to comprehend the delicacy of her position.
“Perhaps, but it will have to be done by another owner. I will not become involved in such a venture,” she said with a crisp finality. “Mr. Steinman, would you please begin with the inventory?”
Familiar enough with Jane to know that her mind had been set, the agent offered a ready bow.
“Of course.”
With near military precision Mr. Steinman turned on his heels and marched up the narrow flight of stairs to begin his task. Watching his retreat Jane failed to notice Hellion’s tight features and distinct absence of amusement in the dark eyes.
“It is unlike you to be so bloody-minded, Jane. At least when it comes to business.”
Instinctively Jane bristled at the implied criticism. Perhaps she was overly sensitive when it came to those questioning her decisions, but dash it all, she had been forced to battle for her right to make her own choices for so long it was not easy to remain indifferent.
“I am not bloody-minded. I simply must make the decisions that I feel are for the best,” she retorted stiffly.
He gave a lift of his brows, his lips thinning. “Are you certain that is all there is to it?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Hellion stepped abruptly forward, his expression impossible to read. “Could it be that you simply do not desire to hear any suggestions from a frippery rakehell?”
She blinked at the unexpected attack. Hellion almost seemed . . . offended. Which did not make sense at all.
“That is absurd.”
“Is it?” he demanded. “I have noted that you have never once asked my opinion or included me in your business affairs.”
Wondering what the devil had gotten into the man, Jane planted her hands upon her hips.
“You were the one to claim that your only business was pleasure, Hellion. I did
not presume you would be interested.”
“And if I assure you that I am? Would you be prepared to listen to my advice?”
Jane faltered at the blunt question. She had never actually considered sharing her vast responsibilities with another. Not even her husband. Somehow she had just assumed whomever she wed would be content to run the estate and see to his own interests.
“I . . . would always listen to advice,” she cautiously retorted.
As if sensing her reluctance his lips twisted. “Just as long as it did not come from me, eh Jane?”
There was an edge of bitterness to his voice that made her heart abruptly clench with regret. Although she was uncertain what she had done, it was obvious that his pride had been wounded.
“Hellion, it is not that I do not desire to listen to your advice.”
“Then what is it?”
“As a woman it is difficult enough to command respect among those gentlemen I must maintain contacts with. I must always recall that one misstep could ruin everything.”
His expression remained as unyielding as granite. “And?”
She waved an impatient hand about the shabby common room. “Can you imagine what the gossips would do to me should they discover I have opened a business next to the most notorious brothels in London? Especially a business that caters solely to gentlemen? There is not a businessman about who would not close his doors to me. And society . . . gads, I would be worse than a wallflower. I would be an utter pariah.”
With a restless motion Hellion turned away, his hand lifting to rub his nape as if plagued beyond bearing. Which was ridiculous, she told herself somewhat grumpily. If anyone was being plagued it was she.
“You are right, of course,” he said in flat tones. “I did not consider.”
It was clear that he was far from appeased by her perfectly reasonable explanation and Jane heaved a sigh of impatience.
“For goodness sakes, Hellion, what is it?”
For a moment he kept his rigid back firmly turned before at last he swiveled to regard her with a burning gaze.
Some Like It Wicked (Hellion's Den) Page 21
