A Dangerous Passion

by Jillian Eaton

  A grimace flashed across his handsome countenance. “I know it’s not much to look at from the outside, but–”

  “It’s enormous,” she breathed, hardly able to believe her good fortune. She didn’t know quite what she’d been expecting when Bran had offered to take her to his home. A tiny flat. A room above a pub. A decrepit tenement on the verge of collapsing. But certainly not an entire house! The space – for one could hardly call it a bedroom – she’d shared with two other girls at the Mermaid had been so small and cramped it had been impossible to stand upright. By comparison, Bran’s home was a veritable palace.

  “Aye.” Tossing a cocky grin over his shoulder, he lifted a brass key out of his pocket and unlocked the door. “That’s what all the ladies say. After ye, love.”

  The long hem of his coat dragged behind her as she walked hesitantly into a large foyer with a vaulted ceiling and gleaming hardwood floors. The interior of the house was dimly lit, but after Bran locked the door behind them he made quick work of lighting the half dozen or so sconces hanging on the walls. Her mouth agape, Lilly turned in a slow circle, scarcely able to believe her eyes.

  There was a parlor off to the left and a library to the right. A grand staircase led to the second floor which was divided into two hallways so long she couldn’t see the end of them. There were large paintings in gilt frames, furniture trimmed with mahogany, and not one, not two, but three crystal chandeliers! Having never seen such wealth before, she was almost stunned speechless by the sheer overwhelming opulence of it all.

  Almost.

  “Are you a duke?” she blurted, completing her circle to stare up at Bran in amazement. He smirked down at her, blue eyes bright with amusement.

  “Hardly, love. But I make do. Here, let me help ye with yer coat.” His hands skimmed lightly down her arms, making her tremble with awareness as he removed the greatcoat and draped it over the back of a chair. “You’re about the same size as my sister. Ye can borrow some of her clothes until we get ye to the dressmaker’s.”

  Lilly tugged self-consciously at her low cut bodice. She hated the serving gowns they had to wear at the Mermaid, but her only other dress – the one she’d brought with her all the way from Blooming Glen – was just one failed stitch away from falling to pieces. “I – I am afraid I don’t have any money.”

  “That’s all right.” Bran shrugged easily, as if money was no object. “I know a dressmaker who owes me a favor. It won’t be any trouble at all to get ye a few new things.”

  “Oh.” Hating the idea of charity – even if it was desperately needed – she bit her lip and looked down at the floor. “You – you really don’t have to. I’ll make do. Just allowing me to stay here is more than enough. Truly.”

  Bran crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Having a beautiful lass like ye dressed in a scrap of cloth like that is nothing short of a crime, love. As I don’t a trip down to Bow Street, you’ll be doin’ us both a favor if ye let Old Bea make ye a dress or two. Given the sort o’ clientele she usually gets, I wouldn’t be surprised if she paid us.”

  When he put it that way…

  “Well…all right.” Lifting her chin in time to catch his triumphant grin, she wagged her finger at him. “But I only need one,” she said sternly. “And I will pay you back.”

  “As I said, Old Bea owes me. But if it makes ye feel better, I can think of a few ways ye can make it up to me.” His grin was so utterly wolfish that she didn’t know whether to laugh or pick up her skirts and flee in the opposite direction. Running was undoubtedly the wiser choice, but then she’d never made the best decisions where rakes were concerned.

  Why start now?

  Her breath caught when he stepped closer, his thumb brushing across her cheek as he tilted her head up. His grip wasn’t tight or restraining. She could have easily stepped back if she wanted to.

  If being the operative word.

  “What – what are you doing?” she whispered, her breath catching when he trailed the back of his hand along the curve of her jaw and down the side of her throat to where her pulse beat wildly. Every part of her body, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, felt like it was humming…as if she were a finely tuned bowstring on the verge of being plucked by a very skilled musician.

  Instinctively she knew that making love to Bran would not be the same as making love to Doyle. There was a connection between them. A real connection, not one forged by empty grins and meaningless flattery, but by raw physical attraction the likes of which she’d never experienced before.

  The only question that remained was what they were going to do about it.

  “You’ve the softest skin I’ve ever felt.” His hand trailed lower, lingering on the exposed skin of one shoulder before slipping behind her back and sliding into her long mane of tangled hair. He rubbed a blonde tendril between his thumb and forefinger as he gazed down at her and her pulse began to race even faster when she saw the dark desire swirling in the depths of his gaze. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think ye were an angel sent from heaven above to tempt me.”

  “An – an angel?” A soft laugh escaped her lips. “I am many things, but I’m afraid an angel is not one of them.”

  “Are ye saying I’ve brought a sinner into my home?” His husky voice was as intoxicating as a glass of red wine. A fitting analogy, as she already felt well on her way to being inebriated. Everything around them was blurred. The floor. The ceiling. The walls. The only thing in focus was Bran. His disheveled mane of dusky gold hair. His ice blue eyes. His slightly crooked nose. His parted lips…

  “I – I…” Embarrassed by her stammering, her gaze darted away as she imagined what those lips would feel like pressed against hers. Doyle’s kisses had always been wet and a bit sloppy. To be honest, she’d never particularly cared for them. But she had a feeling she would very much like the way Bran kissed.

  What are you doing? Her head demanded, outraged by the traitorous direction of her thoughts. You’ve gone down this road before, and look how it turned out! We haven’t come this far just to trade one rake for another.

  Why not? Her heart asked. After all, she was already damned to hell – her premarital affair had seen to that. So why not enjoy the ride on the way down? It wasn’t as if she could ruin herself any more than she already had. And if she was going to sin, she might as well do it with someone worth sinning for.

  There were worse things in life than being a handsome rogue’s mistress. Not that Bran had said he wanted her as such, but really…why else would he go through all the trouble of bringing her here? But just as she was about to close her eyes and purse her lips, he abruptly stepped back and slid his hands into his pockets.

  “Ye need to rest,” he said gruffly, and for the first time since they’d met he looked away from her, his eyes unreadable as his gaze flicked to a painting hanging on the far wall. Were it not for the tension in his jaw she might have thought she’d dreamed his hand on her skin and his mouth a hair’s breadth away from her own. Were she bolder she might have demanded to know why he’d stopped.

  “It’s been a long night,” he continued, still not looking at her. “Let me show ye to your room, and I’ll have the maid bring up a plate of food.”

  “Oh. All – all right, then.” Not knowing whether she felt more relieved or disappointed, Lilly followed him up the stairs and down a long hallway to a dimly lit bedchamber. Like the rest of the house it was impressively large and handsomely appointed with a canopied bed, two parlor chairs set on either side of a dormant fireplace, a matching chaise lounge, a small table, and a writing desk complete with parchment and an inkwell. Clasping her hands together with sheer, unadulterated delight, she all but leapt past Bran, her skirts fluttering around her calves as she whirled in another circle.

  “This – this is like something out of a dream.” Like a child on Christmas morning that didn’t know which present to open first, she danced from one side of the room to the other, touching everything withi
n reach. Stopping beside the bed, she fell back onto the soft coverlet with a giddy laugh, her feet kicking gleefully in the air. “I feel like a queen.”

  “There’s never been a queen as beautiful as ye,” Bran said quietly, and Lilly’s heart gave a hard thump inside of her chest when she sat up on her elbows, hair spilling in a waterfall of silk down her back.

  Bran’s hungry gaze devoured her from across the room in one long, searching stare that left her skin flushed and her breath coming in short, uneven rasps. Quickly sitting all the way up, she crossed her arms over her chest and bit her lip, suddenly feeling for all the world as if she were a tiny rabbit…and Bran was a very large, very hungry wolf.

  “T-thank you,” she squeaked. “F-for everything.”

  “I’ll send for the maid.” He started to turn. A silvery beam of moonlight slipped in through the window, illuminating his clenched jaw and the hard line of his brow as he glanced back at her over his shoulder. “Sleep well, Lilly. Sweet dreams.”

  Then he was gone, but it was a long, long time before she fell asleep…and when she finally did succumb to slumber, her dreams were anything but sweet.

  Chapter Four

  What the bloody hell was he doing?

  Stalking across his bedchamber to the window, Bran yanked back the curtain and glared down at the street below. With the exception of a black alley cat stealthily climbing a stack of crates in search of a midnight meal, all was quiet. He started to let the curtain fall, but a flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye stilled his hand.

  It was Juliet, moving stealthily as the cat through the shadows. As if she sensed his gaze she suddenly stopped and looked up, her green-eyed stare going directly to the window. When she saw him standing on the other side of the glass she lifted her hand and gave a one-fingered salute which he promptly returned, followed by a relieved nod of his head.

  So his little sister had managed to escape Newgate yet again. He was impressed, but not surprised. If there was anyone who could outwit Hargrave, it was Jules. Maybe this time she’d be smart enough to stay underground for a while. Because it was not a question of if she was going to get caught. It was a matter of when. And she was going through her nine lives faster than he cared to count.

  No thief was infallible. Yeti had taught them that. All it took was one mistake, one left turn instead of a right, and they’d find themselves dangling by the neck at high noon in Newgate Square. It was a gruesome fate Bran would not wish upon anyone, least of all Juliet.

  She’d always been the more reckless of the two of them. The three of them, if he counted Edward. Which he didn’t. Not anymore. Not since he’d walked into Juliet’s bedroom and found Eddy pinning her down to the bed, his eyes filled with madness and gut-churning lust.

  Bran did not like to think of that night often. When he did his hands still curled into fists and he smelled blood, metallic and wet. Had Juliet not pulled him back he would have beaten Edward to death, which would have been no less than the bastard deserved. Instead they’d banished him from London and had not heard hide nor hair from him in over four years. For his sake, Bran hoped he was dead. Because if he ever stepped foot in the city again he soon would be.

  When Juliet disappeared around the front of the house Bran’s thoughts immediately returned to Lilly. Or rather, to Lilly’s breasts. He’d caught a glimpse of one dusky nipple when she’d thrown herself back on the bed and it had lit a fire in him that was still smoldering.

  God, what he wouldn’t have given for a taste of her. Just one long, hot, lingering taste. Unfortunately, he’d come to his senses just as he had been about to kiss her. And even though he could have sworn he had seen a flash of disappointment in her heavy-lidded gaze, he’d been determined to honor his word.

  Bran was not a good man. He’d lied and cheated. He’d broken hearts (although never on purpose). He’d stolen. Only the devil himself knew how much. But one thing he’d never done was take advantage of a woman.

  It would have been child’s play to lure Lilly into his bed. He knew she was attracted to him. He’d seen it in her eyes. Heard it in the quiet catch of her breath. Felt it in the rapid flutter of her pulse. He could have taken her in an instant if he’d wanted to. And bollocks, had he wanted to. But when he made love to her – for there was no longer any ‘if’ about it – she wouldn’t be swaying on her feet from exhaustion and hunger.

  The poor lamb had been one step away from collapsing where she stood. He couldn’t begin to imagine the trials she’d been forced to endure, nor how she’d managed to survive for this long. Some women – like Jules – were born and bred for the East End. They’d been raised from birth on a steady diet of violence and deceit. But Lilly, sweet Lilly with the violet eyes and shy little smile, wasn’t one of them. It was a miracle she’d managed to last this long, and he shuddered to think of what might have happened to her if their paths hadn’t crossed when they did.

  The lovely did not last long in St Giles. If they were not murdered outright, they became bitter and hard and filled with resentment. But not Lilly.

  Lilly was soft and kind. She was everything good in a world filled with darkness and despair. Her light may have been dimmed by whatever ills had befallen her, but it wasn’t extinguished and the glow of it pulled him to her like a moth to flame.

  He’d desired other women before, but not like this.

  Never like this.

  The need to touch her, to kiss her, to claim her as his own pulsed in his blood. It drove him out into the hallway and all the way to her bedchamber before he stopped short, his hand hovering above the doorknob as he realized what he was on the verge of doing. With a vicious curse he turned and walked away, his jaw clenched and his bollocks aching.

  He found Juliet in the kitchen helping herself to a plate of leftover scones courtesy of their part-time cook. With just the two of them living in the townhouse it didn’t make sense to employ an entire staff, so they made do with a cook and a scullery maid. Money well spent, in Bran’s opinion, as Jules couldn’t cook worth a damn and he wasn’t after doing his own laundry.

  “Save one of those for me, will ye?” He pulled up a chair beside the table while Juliet divided the scones onto two plates. Slapping one down in front of him, she hopped up on the worktop and balanced the other on her lap.

  “I thought you’d still be out in a pub somewhere.” Twisting her long auburn curls up into a bun, Juliet made quick work of the first scone and started on the second. For such a tiny slip of a thing she’d always had an enormous appetite, often leading Bran to wonder if she didn’t have a hollow leg.

  “Change of plans.” Not really hungry, but needing something to do with his hands, he began to pick his scone apart. “I’m glad to see ye aren’t in irons. Would’ve been a pain in the arse to break ye out of Newgate.”

  “Please.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s not a Runner alive fast enough to catch me. Not even the Wolf.”

  “But ‘e came close,” Bran noted with a sly grin as his gaze flicked down to her neck where the skin was red and irritated. Having left the same marks on many a woman, he knew precisely what they were. “Or else ye wouldn’t have those whisker burns.”

  “Sod off.” Scowling, she tugged up her collar. “It’s none of your damn business.”

  “It’ll be my damn business when all of Bow Street comes pounding on our door. Bloody hell, Jules.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What the devil are you thinking, knockin’ boots with a Runner? Ye might as well have dangled a piece of meat in front of a lion.”

  “We weren’t knockin’ boots.” Setting her plate aside with a clatter, she crossed her arms and glared down her nose at him. “And do you think I’d really be stupid enough to lead him back here? I lost him all the way back at Blackfriars Bridge It’s impossible for him to have tracked me this far.”

  “Maybe not tonight, but what about the next time? Or the time after that?” He drummed his fingers on the table. “It’s a dangerous game you’re playing, Jul
es.”

  “Perhaps,” she acknowledged, “but it’s my game to play.”

  “Not when the consequences effect the both of us.” What would happen to Lilly if he was taken by the Runners? She’d be safe for a week, maybe two. But eventually word would get out that he was in Newgate and vultures would descend on the house like a black plague, stealing anything that wasn’t nailed down…including Lilly. “Ye need to take a step back, Jules. I’m serious this time.”

  Stuffing a piece of scone into her mouth, she mumbled something incoherent under her breath.

  “Chew and then talk. Bloody hell.” Now he was the one who rolled his eyes. “Ye would think ye had been raised in a barn.”

  “I said you’re right.” She glared at him, fiery green eyes daring him to mock her. “The Runners are becoming a nuisance. Hargrave in particular. I’m not going to give up thieving. It’s who I am. But maybe…maybe it’s time I kept my head down and only did small jobs for a while.”

  “Or no jobs at all,” Bran suggested mildly. He was tempted to toss in a smug ‘I told you so’, but as Jules was known to throw a vicious uppercut and he fancied his nose where it was, thank ye very much, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

  “No jobs?” Juliet looked at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head. “As in stop stealing? All together?”

  “All together,” he confirmed.

  Her face paled. “But…but what would I do?”

  For some thieves, stealing was more than a way of life. It was their life. While Bran had never let his occupation define him, he knew his sister took immense pride in being known as the best jewel thief in all of London. Once that title had belonged to their friend Felix Spencer, but after he’d been captured by the Runners (and subsequently became a Runner himself to escape a lifetime of imprisonment) the crown had been passed to Juliet. She wore it as proudly as any queen, and he knew what giving it up would mean to her. Just as he knew what would happen if she didn’t.